


Blood and Chaos

by Aetheron, quote_Amy_unquote (Sannah_banana)



Series: Blood and Chaos [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, POV First Person, Psychopathology & Sociopathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-05 15:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14047119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aetheron/pseuds/Aetheron, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sannah_banana/pseuds/quote_Amy_unquote
Summary: This story is brought to you by a the boredom of a slow shift, my morning cup of coffee, and the depressing realization that any realistic SI involving myself can be summed up by: “He died. Horribly.” But... death in the Buffyverse is hardly the end. Sometimes it's just a beginning. A pseudo-SI turned vampire story.Posting more chapters as I go through and edit the ones on spacebattles





	1. In Which I Die Immediately, A Prologue

I wake up on a sheet of metal on the roadside. I add sleep walking to my mental what the hell list right next to bizarrely vivid dreams of a man and woman in togas dragging me through a tunnel while shushing each other and giggling. Did the guy have two faces? Weird. I feel... like I’ve been dragged through a rough hewn tunnel for hours and then dumped on the roadside actually. And I think I was allergic to the dirt along the way, because everything itches.

Standing up is a struggle just barely within my capabilities at the moment, leaving me winded as I stare down at the bed of metal I woke up on. It seems to be a sign of some sort. I stagger back a step and squint at it, feeling woozy on my feet.

“Welcome to Sunnydale”

...

The Fuck?

A hand grips my shoulder tightly and spins me around. A pair of pale blue eyes stares back at me from mere inches away. The brunette woman they belong to seems familiar in a most distressing way. I reflexively try to back away, but my feet won’t move.

“Naughty, naughty, little starlings, trying to be sneaky while the stars are having a party. The other stars won’t like it when they find out about my present.” She giggles.

O...kay... I’m in Sunnydale, being stared at by Drusilla. Can I wake up now?

“Silly little alien, you’re not asleep.”

I must have said that last bit out loud. Wait a minute, “Alien?”

She nods her head at me happily, “Oh yes, you crashed down from the stars out of nowhere,” she looks down nudges the sign with her foot. “I don’t think your rocket ship will fly anymore though, such a waste. I’d have liked to taste the stars.” She meets my eyes again and the foot I had been trying to slide back away from her stops moving without my consent and despite my best efforts to make it continue doing so. “But now I’ll have my very own alien to play with, I like this so much better than getting old man stuck my teeth. I must remember to thank Miss Edith for telling me you’d be here.”

In an instant Drusilla is wearing her gameface, there’s a pain at my neck and the world fades to darkness.


	2. First Night Redux

**\---Inside of A Coffin---**  
  
I wake up in a coffin. Mother always was a fan of tradition.  
  
The first half-hour of my unlife is spent clawing my out of the ground. Mother’s traditions suck.  
  
I emerge hungry, angry, and more than a little confused. Mother should be here. She isn’t. I’m in a garden full of weeds and broken statuary, but no Mother.  
  
There’s a rudimentary tombstone on the ground near my feet. It reads “Here lies my alien, he lived for 10 minutes” with the date May 12th 1998. I snort. 10 minutes sounds about right.  
  
Going by the sign and the date on the tombstone, I’m in Sunnydale, at the end of season... 2? I believe if my father’s memories of the show are to be believed. I’ll have to test that somehow. There are far too many fantastic opportunities just waiting to be exploited if they prove to be accurate. I don’t even try to resist the cackling laughter that erupts from me as I continue to explore.  
  
That large stone building must be the mansion Mother was staying in with William and Grandfather. It’s far too quiet now for anyone to be home. Perhaps I slept through the big finale? That... would explain why Mother isn’t here. William must have run off with her, the bastard. William the Bloody Monopolizer of Mothers.  
  
Then again, if he hadn’t, there’d be no world for me to wake up in. He had a point with the happy meals on legs bit. My stomach gurgles. Screw it. I’m far too hungry for philosophy.  
  
I’m not more than three steps outside the mansion’s cast-iron gate when a woman comes jogging around the corner and runs straight into me. The rapid, rhythmic beating of her heart distracting me until she’s barreled straight into me, not quite able to stop herself in time. We go down in a tangle of limbs. She smells of lilacs and sweat and  _human_ which I can’t quite explain but she does, and it’s absolutely intoxicating.  
  
I feel... high on life, literally. I’m flooded with warmth. I don’t even recall feeling cold, but in retrospect it feels obvious that this was just  _missing_  until now.  
  
I don’t even register that my fangs are out until after the scent of blood floods my senses and she’s been dead for over a minute. Embarrassingly I think I’ve been sucking on her neck for that whole minute without noticing my drink was empty. I make sure to push my gameface back down before pushing myself back up onto my feet and then pulling her corpse up with me.  
  
No one seems to be around to have noticed anything. Convenient, that, so I drag her into the mansion.  
  
Signs of recent battle, and a sword-less Acathla statue confirm my earlier theory that I’m late to the party. The mansion is wrecked pretty thoroughly aside from the stone walls themselves and occasional surviving piece of furniture.  
  
I dump my kill on the ground and rummage through what few pockets her jogging outfit has. The cash and keys get shoved into my pockets and then I pull out my phone to see how far away the address on her driver’s license is.  
  
...  
  
...  
  
I continue to blink stupidly at the bulky Nokia brick-like phone thing in my hand. In retrospect I don’t know what I really expected. It’s not like original iPhones are almost a decade away from existing or anything, let alone sixes. I guess this is the 1998 equivalent? That’s fucking depressing.  
  
Adapting to being a demon wearing the man I remember being like a suit? That’s easy. I suspect even father could have managed that.  
  
Adapting to using technology almost 2 decades old? Oh fucking hell no. This sucks.  
  
I stagger over to one of the few unbroken chairs and flop into it feeling nearly boneless. There was a brief moment of hope when I realized that magic could probably fake many of the missing bits technology couldn’t handle yet before I remembered that Grandfather ate the only techno-pagan I can name. William was right, Gramps is a wanker. I’m not sure how long I sat there before I got over the shock of seeing this museum piece in my hand. Eventually, I realized that the thing was off because the battery had drained while I was busy being a corpse and the whole topic was moot. Not like I know anyone’s phone number here in Bizarro California anyway.  
  
Okay. I’m being ridiculous. I know it. I survived being a kid in the late nineties; I’ll survive being an ‘adult’ in the late nineties. It’s not like I have to relearn how to use DOS. I’m pretty sure Windows computers have start menus and everything by now.  
  
It finally occurs to me to check the contents of my own pockets. I find out my Leatherman made the journey with me, which is cool I suppose. Of course the keys that were attached to it last I checked are all gone, replaced by a weird looking bottle opener, which is redundant. There’s a wallet in my pocket I’ve never seen before. No credit or debit cards in it, but I think I remember using cash more often back in ’98 and there’s a couple of twenties in it, so I guess that makes as much sense as anything else around here.  
  
Oh! My driver’s license.  
  
... Maybe...  
  
In my hand is a California Driver’s License, with my face on it. But, “Who the fuck is Jack Winters? Hang on; this says I was born in 1980 so I’d be almost 18 now. How’s that work?” I’m neither 18, nor born in 1980... so... what the hell?  
  
It takes me half an hour to find a mirror to see if I look younger now, and about 3 seconds after that to remember I’m not on the membership list for the reflections club anymore. The face on my license looks like it always did, but then again it’s been ages since I had that photo taken. Maybe I can get someone to take a Polaroid of me or something.  
  
I keep rummaging through “my” wallet, may as well get through all the shock induced heart attacks right away. There isn’t anything else truly shocking though, just weird. Emancipation and enrollment paperwork, apparently I’m a Sunnydale High senior starting this fall, both also in the name Jack Winters.  
  
“Well, I guess Jack’s as good a name as any. Not like I wasn’t aware that I’m technically not me anymore anyway.” The last name Winters however makes me twitchy. The slayer being a Summers makes me suspect I’m either being set up, or someone... thing... thinks they’re funny. Probably both.  
  
 **\---Jogger Lady's Apartment---**  
  
Has the universe ever blindsided you with something so incredibly simple that you can’t believe it surprised you? Something so very mundanely banal that despite being caught completely off guard, you can only just stare at it while thinking to yourself, “Duh. Of Course that’s a thing, how did I forget those?”  
  
That’s me right now.  
  
I’m a blood demon. I was literally ‘born,’ after a fashion anyway, mere hours ago. I’m animating the corpse of a man who was kidnapped from his home reality by what looked like two Greeks or Romans or whatever in actual fucking togas. Mother called them starlings, but she was already gone when I woke up so I can't exactly make her explain. I only know any of this because I ate his memories when I took over his body. Are starlings people with two faces? Or is that just what Mother calls drunken frat boys?  
  
Anyway, I’m standing in the apartment of a woman I killed by drinking her blood within an hour of first waking up. A few moments ago I was putting on the gloves I bought at the local gas station and looting the place for valuables. Before that I was wandering around town semi-aimlessly only stopping occasionally to ask for directions. Sunnydale natives? Not so helpful when you knock on their doors at 10-11 pm. Until you explain that you’re lost and just need directions to somewhere else. It seems that the trick is to  _not_  want to come inside and eat them. Who knew right?  
  
Currently? I’m staring slack jawed at a book on her coffee table like it’s the Holy Grail. Right now it may as well be.  **It’s a fucking phone book.**  
  
I was so depressed when my... err... my father’s... fuck it, he died, it’s mine.  _My_  iPhone! Mine!  _Which no longer exists yet._ The important point is that it wasn’t in my pocket, and somehow the idea that being two decades in the past also meant that phonebooks still exist... never occurred to me. I wonder if William had one of these in the mansion already? He was always more on the ball about keeping up with ‘modern’ tech than your average vampire. Or maybe he just liked watching TV?  
  
I flat out cackle gleefully as I begin paging through it, because it has a map. Great Grandmother would be so embarrassed by me right now but I don’t care because she’s dust at the moment and I have a phone book, with a map! Need a robot? Warren Mears’ address is in here. Need someone to cast a spell? The Madisons, Rosenburgs, Wells, Levinsons, and even that weird little magic shop with a revolving door of ownership, are all in my new book. I wish I could remember what the Pylean Dance of Joy looked like so I could do it right now. I settle for another round of gleeful cackling and celebratory arm waving.  
  
...  
  
Huh. There’s an idea, two actually. First: No wishing, not out loud, and not in my head either, not worth the risks. Second, I should look into memory spells. Dredge up actual details from the show so I can test them for accuracy. Wouldn’t it be sad if I made elaborate plans based on father’s memories and it turned out he was just a crazy person with delusions of precognition. Actually... speaking of my father, I wonder if I’m in... Nope, I’m not, there are no Winters listed in the Sunnydale phonebook. The street listed on my license is on the map however. I’ll have to check it out. Someone or more likely some _thing_  went through an awful lot of trouble to get him here and settled in. I really ought to look into that.  
  
Continuing to loot the place nets me some cash hidden in her sock drawer and a new watch. It’s girly, so I won’t wear it, but knowing that its 2am right now seems handy, so into my pocket it goes. I pack a suitcase full of her clothes, so it looks like she went somewhere in case my memories of the SPD’s lack of job performance prove inaccurate, and toss it all in her car’s trunk before declaring the car mine by right of conquest as well. If nothing else the socks might fit. Thinking about the watch again, I go back inside and snag her alarm clock for good measure.  
  
 **\---My Home, Allegedly---**  
  
I park recently deceased chick’s car at the address listed on my license. It’s a hole. As in the hole in the ground they dig for a foundation. The CRC construction sign claims someday there will be a McDonald’s there.  
  
I’m not sure how to feel about this.  
  
On the one hand I don’t magically have a home. On the other hand this is the first sign I’ve seen that whatever kidnapped my father may have limits to its powers. Come to think of it, I should verify if the documentation I have is legitimate or just a better forgery than I can detect... not like I have any talent at telling the difference.  
  
Of course, it also begs the question: Was the universe trying to tell him that he’s a happy meal on legs? And Mother merely moved the lesson forward a few hours? I’m not sure how to feel about that either. Could the message have been that  _I’m_  still just a happy meal on legs? He’s gone now, but I’m still here... How would I even tell? cast ‘Summon Bigger Fish’ and see what shows up?  
  
...  
  
“SUMMON BIGGER FISH!”  
  
Nothing happens. Typical, the universe needs a better GM.  
  
 **\---Near Angel's Abandoned Mansion---**  
  
I park the car a few blocks away and head to the mansion with my loot, minus the suitcase of woman’s clothing.  
  
There’s a squatter in what I think was the living room when I get arrive. He’s rummaging in one of the closets as I walk through the door. I can hear his lack of heartbeat, but I can tell he’s a vampire and not a zombie by smell. That’s interesting. My nose comes with some pre-calibration.  
  
“Hey man, you heard about the crew staying here getting cleared out by the slayer too huh?” he greets me amicably while I’m sorting out the various scents I can detect now. Newly dead chick smells like death now that it’s been a few hours. It’s not a bad smell like I would have expected either, it just... is. Maybe because the various chemicals involved aren’t bad for  _me_  anymore.  
  
“Uh yeah, seemed like a good place to crash for the day,” I tell him, looking around like I’ve never seen the place before, but thanks to my nose I don’t really need to fake the mild confusion. “I think I’ll take one of the rooms upstairs. That okay?” I’m not sure if it’s lacking a pulse to race, or being a demon now, but either I’m a much better liar than I recall being in life... or fledgling vampires really are as borderline retarded as I remember them being depicted on TV. Either way, he agrees to my taking one of the rooms upstairs and then turns back to the closet. I cave his skull in with a broken piece of rebar that was lying nearby. Do vamps normally just... get along with each other by default? Meh, it might be paranoid, but I’m going to continue to assume most vamps act like my recollections of William the Bloody until proven otherwise. I have no intention of being forced to greet the sunshine any time soon.  
  
Speaking of which, I had best hurry up. Sunrise is coming. I loot and then dust the intruder, before setting to work returning to the blackout curtains that were knocked down in the recent fighting to their proper places. A few of the curtains and rods are lost causes, forcing me to abandon a few of the less useful looking rooms as lost causes as well, pulling their doors closed instead.  
  
I scrounge up some paper and a pen but my plan of spending the day plotting out what needs to be done is scuppered the moment the sun pokes out above the horizon.  
  
I immediately feel like I’m a cup of coffee short of quota but over-caffeinated at the same time. No good will come of doing any serious planning while the ants are crawling behind my eyeballs. Daytime activities are clearly a last resort only now. Irritation rising rapidly, I flop down on the bed that still smells faintly of Mother and prepare to spend the rest of the giant yellow cancer ball’s journey across the sky unconscious.  
  
...  
  
I suspect I may have inherited father's insomnia. Gods Damn It.


	3. Foreign Languages and Herbalists Suck

**\---The Magic Shop---**  
  
The urge to beat this kid to death with one of his new age hippie books has slowly made the jump from amusing stray thought to serious consideration. I suppose it isn’t entirely his fault, I was pretty annoyed before I even got here. I had to drag myself out of bed during the day and hug the shadows to get here before closing time. I could have waited for sunset, but then I’d have been  _that_  guy that shows up just before close demanding service. They go to the  _special_  Hell.  
  
I’m fairly certain that I’d have snapped and eaten him already if I hadn’t found the remnants of William’s stash of blood bank packets in the fridge from when he was allegedly crippled. Drinking cold blood was like drinking warm lemonade, and without enough sugar too, but they sated the gnawing hunger that had pulled me out of my nap before the sun had finished buggering off.  
  
I think something of my thoughts must have leaked into my expression because the sales clerk guy finally admits to the owner keeping the less touristy books in the side room. “Thank you,” Ginkgo Biloba indeed!  
  
Of course, now I’ve traded a man with far too much enthusiasm for herbs and homeopathy for a room full of books that aren’t in English. Most don’t even seem to use the same alphabet. The sales kid, who is probably “older” than me if my new license is to be believed, doesn’t follow me. I guess I can’t fault his survival instincts for that decision. I look around with a grimace, once again lamenting Google’s failure to properly exist yet, and start looking through the titles for something that sounds like memory, carefully avoiding the beam of sunlight coming through the back window.  
  
I’m halfway around the room, having made zero progress, when a blond girl walks in. She looks familiar. “I don’t suppose you can read... uh... whatever this is,” I gesture towards the book either titled or written by whatever “الشعلة الحية” means. She laughs, but whether it’s at my general helplessness or if the book title is something embarrassing I can’t say. “Yeah, I may have been a bit hasty chasing off the sales guy, but I couldn’t handle any more of his homeopathic... huh, it occurs to me  _now_  that if this stuff works there may actually be something to the Ginkgo Biloba stuff he was pushing.”  
  
“Ginkgo Biloba? Having trouble with... memory?” She scrunches up her nose in thought on the last part. “Oh! I’m Amy by the way.” A familiar looking blonde named Amy. I wonder...  
  
“Jack,” I nod and smile at her in lieu of risking initiating a handshake, “and yes. Well, I mean, my memory is working the way it’s supposed to, but I’m hoping to find a way to dredge up the details on something from a decade ago.” Looking pointedly around the room, “Allegedly there’s a spell in here somewhere for  _forgetting_  things. Hopefully the reverse is also true? And not like hypnosis where my brain just plays mix and match with details to make something plausible up either.” The devil is in those details after all when it comes to testing the validity of my ‘memories’ from the show.  
  
“Hmmm...” she’s tapping her finger against her chin and looking around the room, “Something you saw?”  
  
“Yeah, or at least it was on TV and I saw it on the screen if that matters.”  
  
“Maybe... Well, let’s take a look, I’m getting pretty good at the Latin and Greek stuff... but you might have to ask Mr. Velissaropoulos or Mr. Giles if you want to know what language... that... is.” She points at the book I’d indicated earlier.  
  
“God sneeze you, and who?” I only have to fake half of my confusion this time.  
  
“Huh? Oh! Mr. Velissaropoulos owns the store. He’s Greek, I think? He’s usually only here on Wednesdays and Thursdays though, most of the time he’s out finding stuff. Mr. Giles is the librarian at school, he knows a ton of languages, and some of the books on his desk make that one look normal.” Her smile turns sheepish, “err... And I’d avoid trying to read any of them out loud.”  
  
I laugh, recalling Xander igniting a book that way, “Yeah... I learned that lesson too. Unfortunately.” I hold up my hand which still looks a tad singed from where it clipped a bit of sunshine when I wasn’t paying enough attention. Worst. Sunburn. Ever. “Oops?”  
  
My mood improves as steadily as the sun sets while we search. Before I know it Mr. Biloba is telling us they’re getting ready to close. Amy suddenly looks nervous; glancing out the window shows the last few rays of sunlight dwindling down. Ah. Makes sense, the girl that can do actual magic would be aware of what comes out after dark in this town. “Something wrong, Amy?”  
  
“It’s just later than I thought.” She looks at me, then out the window again. “My mom has some books on this stuff back home. One of them should have the spell she cast on me to help with studying for school, might be something helpful in there.”  
  
I grin back at her, “Sounds great.” I think she just drafted a vampire to walk her home as added protection against... meeting a vampire on her way home. I stifle a giggle, “Shall I walk you home?” This much fun simply can’t be healthy.  
  
**\---Madison Residence---**  
  
Apparently being spooked by a loud noise and then telling me to hurry up while gesturing at the doorway constitutes an invitation? That or agreeing to have me over to look through her mother’s books back at the shop does. Either way the doorway fails to bounce me back out of the Madison residence. If I wasn’t sure which Amy I was talking to back at the shop, the nameplate on the mailbox cleared that up.  
  
Once we find and page through the book she mentioned, she seems far too eager to try out the spell that sounds most promising. When asked about it she just grins, asks me, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a willing magical guinea pig?” and then laughs.  
  
I glare at that. But what the hell, this is literally what I spent all afternoon looking for, and my only other option I can think of is trying to con Willow into casting it. Not that conning season 2-3 Willow would be hard, but I’d really rather not put myself on the radar of Team Scooby.  
  
We go over the ritual instructions and the notes scrawled in the margins in English. Hmmm, looks like committing Grand Theft Body was  _not_  Catherine’s plan A for reliving her glory days. That she then went that route... Not sure how much to read into that. I re-read one of the lines again to make sure, “oh for fucks sake, seriously?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Read the ingredients list on the concoction I have to drink. I think the universe is mocking me,” I grumble, while contemplating going back and eating the sales guy.  
  
“... Ginkgo Biloba!” at least one of us is amused. Unfortunately it’s Amy. I glare at her.  
  
**\---One Spell Prep Later---**  
  
Magic, as it turns out, is finicky. I expected that. It’s also fucking vindictive. Which I did not expect but I really should have.  
  
I sit in a salt circle while Amy chants words in what sounds like Latin.  
  
I drink a bizarre concoction of things including a bit of my blood and a fair bit of that herb which shall no longer be spoken of.  
  
I continue to sit, Amy continues to chant. I focus on what I can remember of the show, and the parts I most want to remember. Lindsey’s tattoos, the Gem of Amarra, and that Glove of M-guy with the lightning bolts. Also, anything with Amy herself in it just for good measure.  
  
The spell works, I think, but not exactly as advertised.  
  
Amy said that the spell her mom cast to help her with studying made her head tingle and then suddenly she could remember what the teacher had gone over in class better.  
  
I don’t know if reaching back over a decade was simply an order of magnitude greater than this year’s syllabus, or if the spell was meant for humans and I only partially qualify. Hell, for all I know the Powers that live to screw with mortals just thought it’d be fucking hilarious. Whatever the cause, the result was that my world dissolved into pain, pain, and more pain. My mind felt like it was on fire as the images and scenes I sought out seared themselves into my brain. I get the distinct impression that forgetting the details is no longer an option.  
  
It may have been a few seconds later, or an hour. I’d never know. But when I came to, Amy was pressed back against the wall staring at me with wide eyes, and the room reeked of her fear.  
  
“Iguh-“ Cough. "It worked.” My throat hurts and my voice sounds strange, I assume from screaming obscenities at the universe, or possibly just screaming incoherently in pain. I try to smile reassuringly at her.  
  
She doesn’t look reassured. “Please don’t eat me,” she squeaks out.  
  
“...Why would I... I’m in game face aren’t I?” she nods. Mother Fucker! I focus on pulling in my fangs, “I’m not going to eat you.”  
  
“But you’re a vampire.” She stutters a little on that last word. I see we’ve reached the stating the obvious phase of this discussion.  
  
“...and you’re a witch. So what? Glass Houses, Amy.” Awesome, now she looks annoyed too. I can’t decide is that’s an improvement.  
  
“Vampires eat people... I’m People!” That last bit going back into panicked tones.  
  
“I never said I don’t eat people. I said I’m not going to eat  _you._ ” At her confused expression I elaborate, using my best Amy Madison impression, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a willing witch to cast spells for me?” And she’s annoyed again, abracadabra. I tilt my head to the side, “If it helps, I can also refrain from eating your dad?”  
  
“And what happens when I’m done casting magic for you?” she sounds suspicious but now I’m just confused.  
  
“I pay you for your time?” Her expression turns confused, which just confuses me more. What part of this doesn’t she understand? “Witches do need money for food and stuff right?”  
  
“Wait, you want to pay me to cast magic for you, and you don’t want to eat me?” She sounds surprised. Why is this such a difficult concept?  
  
“...Yes? Is there some better way of keeping a witch on retainer that I’m not aware of? I have been speaking English for the past couple of minutes, right?” I pull out the hundred odd bucks I’d looted over course of last night. “You do magic, I pay you. I refrain from eating you, you refrain from lighting me on fire. Deal?” Clearly she expected me to only need one spell cast and then a snack or something. Are vampires really supposed to be that shortsighted? Don’t answer that.  
  
“You’re going to eat other people?”  
  
“Well duh, I gotta eat. Why? You wanna watch?”  
  
“Yuck! No! Gross! I want you to not eat people!” I’m beginning to wonder if her mother’s magic had... side effects on this girl. She seems to lack the expected level of enthusiasm for that last statement.  
  
I wonder if this is how William felt whenever he was babysitting Dawn. I raise an eyebrow and stare at Amy, “feeling better now that you’ve pretended to care about your fellow mortals?”  
  
I wait.  
  
“...Yeah,” she does that incredibly put upon sign that only teenage girls can ever manage to get just right, “screw it. We have a deal. Give me the money. No eating me or my dad. Call me when you want another spell cast.” Ha! There’s the beginning of the psychotic dark magic addict I remember. I make a mental note to send a thank you to Rack for deleting that pesky caring nature out of my new toy.  
  
...  
  
Make that; a thank you note written out and mailed by... someone else, someone who has no connection to me, and packed full of high explosives and silver ball bearings. What? Even as a human I hated sharing my toys. Besides, I need Amy to be insensitive to the plight of her fellow mortal, not outright self destructive. Friendly fire is most decidedly not friendly.  
  
I sum all my feelings up on the topic, “Cool,” and hand her the money. “Now, up you get. Let’s have a look at you. What? You just cast a memory affecting spell on me. If you look different than I remember you looking at the store we have a problem.” She stands up and fidgets while I give her a blatant once over. She looks almost exactly like she should. The key word there is almost. Her actress was clearly older than her role. The Amy in front of me is actually... 17? But she looks exactly like I’d expect a 17 year old version of her actress to look... and also the same as when we met at the store. I was lying about my reasons, but only by omission. It was a good idea to double check. “Awesome, we’re good.” I leave it at that, she’s cute, but not so much that I want to risk waking up on fire.  
  
Amy seems to want me out of her house for some reason. I roll my eyes as she does everything but shoo me out the door, only to grab my arm before I can actually leave. “Jack, about our deal? If you run into my mom, eat first, questions later. Okay?” I laugh at her phrasing.  
  
“Obviously.” She looks at me funny but doesn’t ask, so I just smile and don’t elaborate before sauntering off. The night is young, and I have important memories to test. I love magic.


	4. Mental Arts and Crafts

**\---Angel's Abandoned Mansion---**  
  
Results inconclusive. Rawrgle! Again?  
  
Regrettably, my attempts to strangle the magic eight ball are thwarted by its merely being a metaphor for the results my night of testing has produced.  
  
 _Places_ , like the high school library look exactly as they did in the show, albeit with the added perspective of being able to look around and see the other side of them.  _People_ , on the other hand are all slightly off. Sure, they look like the actors and actresses would have looked when they were the ages they portrayed. That’s... interesting academically I suppose, but most decidedly unhelpful when trying to recognize people. Seventeen year olds don’t quite look like Hollywood would have us believe. I wouldn’t care except that I’m, you know, trying to replicate a magical tattoo that goes on a damned person... pun not intended.  
  
Tuning back into reality I glare at the Polaroid in my hand once more before setting it aflame and tossing into the bowl. I check the runes I drew on the manikin for a fourth time while it burns. As before, they look exactly like I remember the ones on Lindsey. Obviously, it could be that Lindsey’s tattoos fall into the second category, ‘Things that aren’t exactly like the show’ but that’s not a terribly productive thought. Hmmm... do the runes not protect against Polaroid style cameras? That wouldn’t actually surprise me all that much, magic loves to nitpick... Again, that doesn’t really help me right now.  
  
I turn to Jennifer, “I’m guessing your room mate didn’t pay extra for a magic immune manikin?” Jennifer doesn’t respond. Oh, hey! She’s stopped drooling. I should write that down. Where’d my lab book go?  
  
It isn’t until I’m noting the time on the latest entry that I realize another possible reason why the runes might not have worked. Maybe the tattoo only works on people? I mean... how does a manikin power a magic tattoo? It doesn’t. I suppose that should have been obvious. Or... wait... maybe it can draw in ambient magic..? I set the manikin aside for retesting later. If nothing else it’ll make a good prop for the tattoo artist.  
  
Gods, this would be so much easier if I could just have Amy research magic tattoos and runes. But when everybody starts boarding the hand-basket, I’d really rather not have there be any more of a paper trail explaining what I did. Paranoia really is self enforcing isn’t it? Then again, if this world didn’t merit paranoia I wouldn’t exist and father would be... I don’t know. Drunk off his ass in Willows room trying to convince her to send him home?  
  
I’m still grumbling about self inflicted handicaps as I start unchaining Jennifer from the wall.  
  
 **\---Later---**  
  
“Why!” whack, “won’t,” whack, “you,” whack, “fucking,” whack, “fledges,” whack- snap! “Stay out!?” I drive the now broken handle of my shovel through the heart of the latest idiot to wander into my territory. His now nearly pancake flat face dissolving into dust. Adding his dust to the urn where I’m storing his predecessors I turn back to Jennifer, “You know Jennifer, if they didn’t keep delivering cash-“ wait. I walk back over to the kitchen table and peer closely at Jennifer’s face. “Jennifer?” There’s a brief flicker of recognition on her features at the sound of her name. Checking the time I add it to the experiment logs. The human mind is absolutely fascinating, she’s gone from uncontrolled drooling to recognizing the sound of her own name again in only... 3 hours. Something I’d never know if I hadn’t accidentally snapped her sanity attempting my first Thralling. Ah, the joys of Arts majors with roommates who come home unexpectedly. Huh, does that make her delivery or DiGiorno?  
  
Fifteen minutes later Jennifer starts to giggle. I pause drawing the weird squiggly shape things on her chest and stare at her. She stops. I have a bad feeling about this even as I make note of it in my log book.  
  
Yup, she’s ticklish. It is exceedingly difficult to draw runes on a girl who’s started squirming under you while you draw. Grimacing, I shift my weight on to her arms to keep them from flailing and carry on.  
  
 **\---Later---**  
  
My poor attempt at the Pylean Dance of Joy is interrupted by Jennifer’s whimpering. I look over at her just in time to see the runes I drew glow brighter and brighter before bursting into flame and quickly vanishing. “Well! That was a short lived victory.” I toss the photo, in which Jennifer is conspicuously absent aside and call Amy. I’m clearly out of my depth here.  
  
“...Hello?” she sounds tired. Well, it  _is_  7 am on a Sunday. I’d probably be tired too if my successful test run didn’t make me far too giddy for even giant ball of obnoxiousness to bring me down. And, you know, that whole I haven't been able to sleep-- or really  _needed_  to either-- since the day I was born thing.   
  
“Good morning, Amy! Is magic like electricity?”  
  
“... Jack? ... Why?... It’s like, 7am! ...What?” Grogginess, thy embodiment is Amy. I add removing the ‘needs sleep’ descriptor from my minions to the ever growing pile that is my to do list.  
  
“Yes. Because reasons. You’re not a morning person are you? And, finally, I repeat: Is magic like electricity? Or rather, is magic like heat actually? As in does it work better with some materials than others. Like they make heat sinks out of copper and insulate houses with... that pink shit.”  
  
“Uhhh..." she pauses just long enough that I begin to wonder if she fell asleep. "...Yeah?” She doesn’t elaborate.  
  
“And what works be-” I’m interrupted by a loud thud behind me.  
  
“What was that?” Amy asks as I turn around to find Jennifer now on the floor next to the table. I watch as she tries to stand up before falling over again.  
  
“That’s just Jennifer,” I wave my arm dismissively.  
  
“Jennifer? Who’s Jennifer?” I’m reminded that Amy can’t see me, or my arm. “Is she okay?”  
  
“Just some college chick I met last night. Her room-mate was an Arts major. And... uh... she  _looks_ okay? A little singed maybe? But I’m pretty sure that’s not from the fall. Not important. Focus, Amy. Magic materials. Go.”  
  
I politely pretend I can’t hear her muttering about impatient vampires, she’s not wrong after all, just off topic. “Uhhh... Iron bad, silver good? Copper and Gold work too, but silver holds it better. I’m not sure why.”  
  
“Find out for me will you? And would I be correct in the assumption that pen ink is in the ‘bad’ category along with iron?”  
  
“Pen ink?”  
  
“Yeah, from one of those artsy type pens”  
  
“...Jack, did you kidnap an art student for her art supplies?”  
  
“No, of course not. That would be ridiculous. I  _ate_ an art student for her art supplies. I kidnapped her roommate, who is, I can assure you, a totally different person.” I think can hear Amy flail her arms in exasperation. I’m not sure why she asked if she didn’t want to know.  
  
“...I shouldn’t have asked.” Oh good, clearly we’re in agreement. “Ummm... pen ink? No, I don’t think that would work very well at all.  _Maybe_  it would last a few minutes, unless... I think they make special inks and papers for that kind of thing? Yeah yeah, I’ll look into it. Can I go back to sleep now?”  
  
I roll my eyes at the laziness of my witch. Honestly? Sleeping when there’s magical science to be done... It _must_ be a side effect of growing up with it or something; ruins the  _magic_ of it all. “You can do whatever you like, but the sooner you get me those answers the sooner you get paid.”  
  
Amy yawns into the phone and then groans, “Fine. I’m awake now anyway. But you’re covering the cost of coffee.”  
  
“Whatever. That’s fine.” I hang up before giving in and letting out a yawn of my own. Gods damn it! I’m dead, I don’t need to breathe, and, as far as I can tell, I don't need to sleep either because I can’t really seem to even get  _tired_. Why the fuck is yawning still contagious? Jennifer’s yawn mollifies me slightly, mostly by reminding me she exists. I re-chain her to the wall before allowing myself to succumb to the yellow menace’s influence.   
  
 **\---Later---**  
  
I interrupt my latest failed attempt at sleep upon hearing the sounds of Jennifer attempting to escape. I glance my alarm clock. 16 hours. 16 hours to go from queen of the drool to attempted escape artist. Nifty. I think this concludes the experiment.  
  
My final entry makes note of the fact that being allowed to stew in her fears overnight seems to have given the blood an odd tang. It’s not a bad flavor, its just strange and I don’t think I like it as much as... regular..? flavored blood.  
  
That settled, I go back to "sleep."  
  
 **\---Later---**  
  
My phone rings.   
  
It’s Amy.   
  
She’s found a book on magical materials.   
  
Apparently I was accidentally very close to the mark; magic seems to follow similar rules to heat sinks, but with bizarre quirks that only magic could make sense of. Un-forged iron resists magic, literally iron that hasn’t been heated. Heat it up in a forge and that property goes away for- functionally- ever even after it cools. Cold Iron in D&D makes more sense now. Silver, Copper, Gold, in that order, unless you’re doing specific things in which case one of them suddenly works better or worse because...? Reasons. That special magic ink? It’s ink with silver in it. I somehow don’t think that was what they meant when one of the cop shows I watched mentioned prison tattoos causing heavy metal poisoning.   
  
Amy agrees.  
  
“Awesome. I’ll meet you at that coffee place after sunset.”  
  
Now I just need to find a tattoo artist that will use ink with silver in it. Maybe LA? If it’s not obvious which one would be the best I could hit Caritas and have Lorne point me at the ‘right’ one. Come to think of it, why am I still in Sunnydale? The mansion is nice, but prone to home invasions, and the town itself is subject to annual apocalypses the prevention of which I’d rather not accidentally interfere in. Maybe I should just relocate?  
  
‘ _Naughty,_   _naughty, Alien. You’ll keep my William from burning up in the sunshine won’t you?’_ Mother’s face flashes through my mind.  
  
...  
  
Why am I on the ground? Oh right, the earth splitting headache. Fucking hell, Mother, did you have to make your handiwork hurt so much? I roll over and climb to my feet. Clearly I’m not allowed to contemplate leaving Sunnydale.  
  
...  
  
Okay, I’m still standing, and my head doesn’t feel any worse. Maybe it was the thinking about not coming back?  
  
...  
  
“Hello, Ground. Thank you for catching me. Sorry about bashing my face into you like that. I’m just going to lie here for a bit okay?” As if I needed a reminder that I’m a rank amateur in the mental arts, I think Mother is showing off. I suppose I should have seen this coming. Of, fucking,  _course,_ Mother left extra programming in my head. Why wouldn’t she? It’s not enough that I have no idea why I’m here, Who or What went out of its way to create my paperwork but listed me as living at a McDonalds that’s still under construction, or any of that. No, I needed the added sense of suspense wondering when the next set of instructions will kick in complete with migraine made to order. I suppose I should just be grateful she didn’t yoke me to the town lines completely.  
  
I’m still sulking on the ground nursing my headache when my phone rings.  
  
“Hello, Amy.”  
  
“Jack, where are you? Sunset was half an hour ago.”  
  
“Sorry, Mother was just explaining some ground rules to me. I’ll be there in a moment.” I almost hung up on her before her panicked screeching processed, “No, not  _your_ mother. Mine. Drusilla.”  
  
I’m halfway through the laborious process of climbing to my feet when what Mother actually said properly registers. Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, how am I supposed to stop that!? I’m not even certain what ‘that’ is; William falling in 'love' with Buffy the Vampire Layer? Or using himself as a soul-bomb against The First? Ugh. Nothing. No hints or directions or even painful twinges associated with either. One thing is certain: William is clearly her favorite son. Fucking. Typical.  
  
I grab the money I owe Amy and head out the door, this is shaping up to be a busy night.


	5. Coffeehouses and Cops

**\---The Espresso Pump---**  
  
I meet Amy at The Espresso Pump.  
  
It’s... different. Like the lovechild of a Starbucks and a Texican restaurant and full of people who think being afraid of the darkness is superstitious.  
  
I order a small coffee, black, from the... bluette..? working the register. Hmmm... That’s fun to look at. She’s cute, doesn’t smell completely human though. That’s interesting. She does a  _very_  good job faking it visually but there’s something my nose is filing under ‘other’ which... Actually, that might just be the hair dye? Maybe? Hmmm... I wonder how hard it would be to use Xander to test her for black widow tendencies? Whoops, I’m staring. Worse, I'm being that guy who stands around in everyone's way after ordering.  
  
I smile, take my coffee, and head over to Amy’s table. Fishing out her money, I toss it on the table before sitting down. “Sorry I’m late, but you know how mothers can get.”  
  
If asked, I’d claim I’m being polite by ignoring the way she started and the slight whiff of her fear. Really I’m just too busy glaring at the cup of coffee on the table in front of me, trying to psych myself up. I do this periodically. Or rather I suppose my father..? host..? the previous owner of my body..? Father has a nice symmetry with Mother... maybe I'll- I’m stalling.  
  
I take a sip of my coffee.  
  
...Huh.  
  
That’s... not  _nearly_ as terrible as my memories would have had me believe. Then again, it also doesn’t really taste like anything. I distinctly remember running this test a number of times before dumping what I’d been told is a staggering amount of cream and sugar into the cup. The perks of vampirism keep racking up; strength, speed, improved sense of smell, albeit apparently less pre-calibrated than I’d initially expected, and my taste buds are now coffee-proof. I eye the cup speculatively. I wonder if that means it won’t affect me at all anymore.  
  
I blink a few times as Amy’s hand retracts from where she waved it in my face before looking up at her. “What?”  
  
She rolls her eyes at me, “How’s Jen?”  
  
“Who?” I glance over at the bluette. I don’t  _think_ her name was Jen. When I turn back, Amy is staring at me with a look of disbelief.  
  
“Jennifer? The girl you were with this morning? Any bells?”  
  
“Oh, her. Have you ever made mac and cheese with yogurt instead of milk?” I get a blank stare back. “Well you should, otherwise I can’t really describe how she tasted.” Even then it’s only a conceptual approximation.  
  
Her blank look turns into rolled eyes and retching noises. “You know, you could just tell me I don’t want to know.”  
  
Now it’s my turn to give her a blank stare, “But then how will you learn not to ask in the first place?” I grin, looking pointedly around the coffeehouse reminding her we’re in public. “For now, I’m happy to let you live vicariously via my... sex life.” I stall out at that, blinking. “Although now that I think about it, that euphemism just put an even more terrible context on the whole tasting like yogurt thing.”  
  
And now we’re both disturbed.  
  
I shake my head to clear it. “Come on. It’s dark; I’ll drive you home.” She pauses in her, what may no longer be entirely faked, retching and nods. I didn’t actually expect her to agree so easily. I’m going to have to work on her self-preservation instincts. That or find a way to mark her as mine in a way that other demons will respect. I snort, the only thing demons will universally respect is straight up butchering anything that looks at her funny, and even then I’d probably have to pee on her.  
  
...  
  
“Jack? You’re spacing on me again.” Apparently we’re at the car already.  
  
“I haven’t had to pee since I died. Weird.” Then again, I think that cup of coffee was my first drink that wasn’t blood since I woke up.  
  
“Gross! Why were you staring at me while... no! I do not want to know. Do not tell me!”  
  
“Spoilsport. But hey, you’re learning fast. That bodes well for you.” I grin at her over the car as I unlock the door.  
  
“...” Amy's mouth clicks shut as she settles for glaring at me while looking mildly disgusted. I’ve noticed that a lot of talking to Amy involves amusing facial expressions. Amusing for me anyway, she looks annoyed most of the time. I pause to mentally reaffirm my stance that I don’t want to wake up on fire, and settle for rolling my eyes at her as I get in the car.  
  
Her glare lasts most of the ride home. She finally cracks as I pull onto her street, breaking the silence, “So, any big plans for tonight?” Apparently she really is learning because she hastily tacks on, “plans that don’t involve dead bodies?”  
  
“Considering I am a dead body? No. But I don’t foresee any murders on my way to L.A. tonight.”  
  
“You’re leaving town?” I’m not sure if she sounds happy or sad about that. I’m not sure she knows either.  
  
“Yeah. I’m going to go visit Caritas. It’s a demon karaoke--” I hear badly stifled laughter next to me. “Hush you. --karaoke bar. More importantly it’s got a set of fantastic magical protection wards I want to take a look at, maybe pick the owner’s brain about.” And while I'm at that, the ever mounting list of specialists I need to arrange contact with; Tattoo artist, Emil, possibly Barney, and a buyer for the Du Lac Cross and book that Mother had stuffed in her mattress. I’m still not sure if I actually want to part with that last pair. I know I’d rather not give them back to Giles merry band of racist peeping toms, but I'm not sure I want to go through the hassle of translating it myself. “And, speaking of defensive wards, congratulations on giving me a great segue into your new research project. Look into protection spells, would you? Unless you want to come to L.A. for a few days with me that is. If not, out you get.” I pull the car up in front of her house.  
  
She snorts, holding her hand to her face like a pretend phone, “Hi, Dad. I’m in Los Angeles, staying in a hotel room with this guy I met a few days ago. Yeah, that’d go over well.” She climbs out of the car. “And that’s ignoring that whole you eat people and I’m people  _thing_  you've got going on, but thanks anyway.”  
  
I stick my tongue out at her eye roll before she closes the door. I also wait long enough to make sure nothing tries to eat  _my_  witch on her way to her door before driving off. Hmmm, maybe I  _should_  find a way to pee on her? I’ll have think about it.  
  
 **\---Somewhere on Route 101---**  
  
“...Seriously?” I stare at the flashing blue lights in the rear view mirror. It’s after midnight. I haven’t seen another car in like 10 minutes, but, apparently going ninety something is still frowned upon.  
  
I pull over, roll down the window, put my hands on the wheel and wait impatiently for Officer Buzzkill to approach.  
  
“License and Registration please.” He sounds annoyed too. Good, irritation loves company as much as misery. I can see one hand is on his service pistol holster as he shines the flashlight in my eyes. I make an exaggerated show of slowly getting out my license and registration paperwork and hold them out to him. His last conscious action is to try and take them from me. I’m slightly impressed that he manages to reflexively click the cover off of his holster between the moment when I grab his arm and when his head smashes into the top of my car as I pull with all my vampiric might. Thoroughly dazed, he doesn’t resist as I pull him into the car through the window.  
  
Coming down off the frenzied high of feeding a few moments later, I’m left slightly puzzled. “Well... that just happened.” I shove Noname McRedshirt back out the window and look around. The little dip in the road I pulled over in blocks my view of much of the road, but I can’t see any other cars on what I do see.   
  
Grabbing my gloves from the for once in my existence aptly named glove compartment, I drag the officer off the road. Finally, it clicks what’s been bugging me about all of this. I’ve been acting like a junky jonesing for a fix.  
  
I sigh, “I couldn’t have just told him I wasn’t the droids he was looking for? Damn it.” Thinking back, I’ve been feeling irritable since shortly after leaving the Sunnydale town limits. Either caffeine is a  _massive_  no-no for vampires, or there’s more to the Hellmouth’s energies attracting us demon types than I was aware of. Fortunately I seem to have snapped out of it after my impromptu lunch.  
  
And so I finally start the checklist I really ought to have run through  _before_  killing one of the local Staties. No one else in sight on the road. No partner in the patrol car. Stripping off his uniform... California Highway Patrol? So, a Patrolman rather than a Trooper? ...huh, there’s no body cam? “Oh right, they’re stuck in the dark ages same as me...” I mutter as I confirm there’s no dash cam in the patrol car either. His radio chirps, asking for unit 17 to report. “Buggerfuck... Of course he called it in.” Outside of Sunnydale, I guess LEOs are allowed to keep their brainstems. Pity about that. My license plates are probably a liability now.  
  
My debate on which of the two cars to drive off in is resolved in favor of option 3 when I spot headlights cresting the ridge. I dart out into the road waving my arms like a madman. The instant the truck screeches to a halt I’m tapping on the window, panicked expression plastered on my face pointing frantically at the cruiser. “I think he had a heart attack. I don’t know CPR.” Oh bless, Mr. Samaritan is getting out of his truck. His door swings open and I grab his chin forcing his eyes to meet mine. Repeating what I did to that artsy girl by accident, I stare into his eyes and... I don’t know how to describe it, it’s a bizarre feeling that I don’t think my brain was ever really meant to process, but I ‘push’ my will into his while thinking “ _STOP!”_  with everything I have. He doesn’t go full blown drool on self levels of catatonic, but his eyes glaze and he goes limp. I think my test subjects are applying my command to everything they consciously can? Makes as much sense as the next theory.  
  
I can hear the operator lady routing reinforcements to check on unit 17 as I shove the guy to the side. Damn.  
  
Suddenly pressed for time, I skip the traditional game of ‘what has he got in his pocketses?’ enjoyed by murderhobos everywhere and just finish stripping off the patrolman’s entire uniform boots and all. It, as well as his service pistol and radio are promptly pitched into the truck... as are the road flares and the shotgun in the car that they really should have locked up with a stronger lock. I’m only what, 3 to 5 times as strong as a normal mortal?  
  
My favorite item drop has to be the taser though. I cackle as my mind is filled with images of the stupid home invading fledges convulsing on the ground.  
  
...  
  
I add electrical immunity or resistance to my list of things I need Amy to learn how to cast for me.  
  
Shaking my head and getting back to work, I’m almost done shoving my loot into the truck’s crew cab when I finally notice just what’s in the cargo bed. “They have farms in California? Oh right, strawberries and wine.” I’m staring at a truck full of fertilizer. I look at the road flares in my hand, and then back at the car that I’ve been in long enough that I’d bet I left something forensic behind. “Perfect.”  
  
Fertilizer, even the chemical kind, doesn’t actually explode like in the movies. It does however burn real nice once the water that it’s usually stored with evaporates, and it’ll give the forensics teams an extra pile of nonsense to sort through. I load the patrolman into my old car, upending a bag of fertilizer into the front and back seats each. I pause briefly to burn the everloving shit out of where I bit him on the neck with the first road flare before tossing it in his lap to ignite the car’s seat. The other flares rapidly follow.  
  
There’s a lot of smoke and then eventually, just as I crest the hill in my new truck, visible flames coming out of the car window. I wonder idly what the investigators will make of a half naked patrolman missing all of his blood and sitting in the driver’s seat of the car he pulled over while it burns to cinders. I don’t want to know nearly enough to stick around though. “Welcome to the Darkside, Farmer Bob.” I pat his shoulder encouragingly and he blinks at me a few times. “Later tonight you can be the cookies we were supposed to have.” The sign for LA seems to think that later will be in about fifty miles. When the shoulder radio starts screaming officer down and calling for backup 15 minutes later I have Bob pitch it out the window.


	6. Caritas Matchmaking Services

**\---Caritas---**  
  
I pause at the top of the stairs leading down to Caritas entryway, running my reasons for being here through my head one last time.  
  
Away from the Hellmouth’s presumed influence, my thoughts on the topic are less enthusiastic, but no less conclusive. I’ve been in this crapsack reality that claims I’m living in a McDonalds, and yes that still bothers me, for 3 days. 3 days during which I’ve been vulnerable to seers and psychics and who knows what manner of voodoo. I plaster a smile on my face and head down the stairs. As long as I avoid singing anything I should be fine. I’m not positive just where Lorne’s flashes of insight come from and I don’t really want to draw the attention of any meddlesome powers. I definitely don’t want Jasmine poking her nose in my business.  
  
The place is busy at 3 AM, which isn’t all that surprising given that a third of the crowd are allergic to sunshine. Or rather, at least a third, most of the other two thirds are things I can’t identify so who knows how they feel about anything. Making my way over to the bar, I claim a stool and order a pint of blood from Ramone. I frown at the glass of red liquid he slides over to me, not because it isn’t blood, or smells wrong or anything like that. I’m just not sure I like the implications of the part where I watched him pour the glass before I got to my seat to order it. I’d ask what gave me away but he’s already headed on down to the next patron... who has a fantastic pair of legs and, oh, she’s also Lilah Morgan and, I’m... not suicidal, so... nope, no thank you.  
  
I stare at my drink and studiously resume my contemplations of how worried I should be that the bartender either knew I was a vampire from the across the room, or was able to foresee my choice of drink order. Neither bodes well for me. I haven’t made a proper dent in either my thoughts or my drink when Lorne slides into the seat next to me with an amused expression on his face. “And what brings you in tonight stranger?” I note in the mirror that Lilah has finished ordering and is returning to her table full of people in suits... and I’m a duh, of course the bartender could tell I was a vampire, my lack of reflection is something of a giveaway. My mystery is solved, and Lilah can’t eavesdrop from where she’s busy... celebrating Lindsey’s promotion to junior associate maybe? Whatever. All is well with the world again.  
  
Worry abating, I turn to Lorne with a grin, “The local yellow pages actually. Well, sort of... I’m new in town, and I’m looking to get a tattoo, but AT &T doesn’t seem to have any way of telling me which of the umpteen hundred tattoo artists around here won’t lose their shit when I show up sans pulse.” I gesture towards the mirror where Lorne’s reflection is talking to empty air. This was all true. The phone book in the Hotel I commanded Farmer Bob to check us into really did have multiple pages worth of tattoo artists listed for the greater L.A. area.  
  
Lorne promptly reminds me why precognition annoys me by waving over a female... Brachen demon? Either way she’s spiky and... covered, in tattoos, “Emilia darling, that mystery client I told you to wait here for has arrived.” What? Seriously? Gods damn it! I didn’t even so much as hum a tune. Lorne wanders off looking pleased with himself. He didn’t even give me a chance to ask about the sanctuary spell the Furies cast on the place.  
  
Emilia steals the seat Lorne vacated. “Hi, I’m Emilia. Tattoo Artist.” She smiles faintly and holds out her hand.  
  
Ah well, show time. “Jack... Security Consultant.” I’m not really sure why I said it, if forced to choose I blame my recent thoughts on the flaws in the sanctuary spell regarding humans or externals. Her smile widens into a full blown grin and her eyes light up, I begin to feel more than a little set up. As Emilia starts telling me about her ex-boyfriend that won’t accept the ex- part of that story, I mentally plan out Lorne’s murder. I’ve only existed for 3 days, and I’m already about to suffer Side Quest Damage. Gods. Damn. It.  
  
Then Emilia pulls in her spikes and all of Lorne’s sins are immediately forgiven.  
  
**\---Emilia's Apartment/Studio---**  
  
Two weeks later, I’m reclining in what looks and feels to me like a simplified dentist chair while Emilia puts the finishing touches on her work.  
  
I’m pulled out of my daydream when I notice Emilia’s needle has been paused for a while. She’s peering down at my face, “Jack, what did you say to Sean anyway?”  
  
I cock my head to the side as I stare up at the girl, “Say to Sean?” what to the who?  
  
“Yeah, to get him to leave me alone.” Oh, Sean must have been the ex-boyfriend.  
  
I think back a week, I’m not sure I actually said much of anything to him. I remember deciding to chalk the whole thing up as a lesson in dealing with precogs. A decision that followed immediately after noticing that the girl now straddling my lap very strongly resembled the chick that played Sif in the Marvel movies, but with lots of tattoos. Dear Libido, why art thou suicidal? Seriously, first Lilah Morgan and now a Valkyrie.  
  
In spite of my initial reservations, I actually did learn a lot.  
  
I learned that if you go to Caritas to find a tattoo artist, and find one waiting there, one who’s got experience with the kind of tattoo work you want done, and who is there specifically waiting for you, that there will be a catch. In this case the catch was that she didn’t want money, at least not any more than the costs of the special inks. What she wanted was for me to make her ex-boyfriend, Sean, apparently, stop stalking her. Side Quest Damage, just like I predicted.  
  
I confirmed that stalkers are as predictably easy to find and catch as one might expect. You simply wait for them to show up near their target.  
  
I learned that my new tazer works on full blood Brachen demons, and that when tazed, said Brachen Demons convulse quite hilariously. Once tazed however, they are still quite a bit heavier than they appear. I also determined that I had misplaced some key part of the tazer’s charger which was sad, but hopefully it’s lost in the truck and not along a roadside in L.A.  
  
I discovered that Brachen Demon blood tastes better than the pigs blood Liam kept in the fridge. Which is to say that it merely tastes terrible. Blech!  
  
I found that while Brachens are beyond my ability to Thrall, and are apparently fairly fire resistant and handle blunt trauma exceptionally well they seem to have no particular resistance to edged or piercing weapons. I also found that those spikes on Brachen Demons are bone, and attach seamlessly to their skulls. As is often the case when magic is involved, this made no biological sense when considering that half-Brachens spikes are retractable. Ah well, they do snap off if you manage to apply enough force, I checked, so there’s that.  
  
At that point the test subject died, and I called off further testing for fear of polluting the data pool. I’m not sure if dead demons maintain their demonic traits yet after all.  
  
...  
  
Oh, and I also verified the fairly obvious fact that curiosity is not a survival trait in hotel managers, even if the other guests report strange noises. This is particularly true for any hotel managers that happen to look so fucking delicious. It was a fantastic night.  
  
None of this however, involved  _talking_  to the err... Sean? So, I’m fairly sure it’s not what Emilia is asking about. “You know, I don’t recall needing to say much to him at all actually,” I pause for a moment as inspiration strikes, “though I think I conveyed a fair bit via facial expression.” I slide into gameface, “and he seemed to understand that he can’t bother you ever again.” I stretch languidly, careful not to dislodge my rider. Looking down my chest now seems to match the manikin I’d brought in with me, “all done?”  
  
“Almost,” she smirks down at me and starts rocking her hips, her arousal flooding my senses. Jesus Christ on a cracker woman, you want to go again!? This will make the fifth time so far today. I start bucking up into her. What? It’s not like I’m going anywhere before the sun fucks off… or did you miss the part where I said she looks like Sif?  
  
I should probably add the fact that female half-Brachens are  _really_  flexible to my notes... later.


	7. Side Effect May Include

**\---Emilia's Apartment/Studio---**  
  
It turns out I hadn’t needed to ask Emilia if she was all finished. I felt it the moment the… magical circuit, or whatever you want to call it, completed. I can feel it now, slowly siphoning power from me to maintain its effect. It feels… weird, like the sensation of sucking in air, but reversed and not associated with any particular body part I have nerves attached to. My respect for Lindsey’s magical skills and power ratchet up a notch simply for being able to handle this as a mortal. I can feel myself… digesting? burning? …using blood faster now to compensate for the power draw. I think I may have just doubled my caloric needs, possibly more.  
  
I’m hungry. My new tattoo itches and tingles and feels slightly warm to the touch.  
  
I stagger out of Emilia’s combination parlor, studio, condo... place the instant the shadows are long enough to make it practical. Even knowing that she would taste vile I was starting to find it difficult to resist.  
  
A homeless man is leaning against a building as I go by. I offer to buy him dinner.  
  
I toss the blood-drained body in the alley dumpster and, with the hunger subsiding, make my way over to Caritas. A lot of work has gone into setting up this meeting, it won’t do to be late.  
  
I’ve been by a few times in the past weeks converting cash into extra blood I could store in Emilia’s fridge for after our morning long ritual of her carving up my skin with a needle. I’ve learned to sense to that slight prickling sensation in the back of mind when I cross the threshold of the sanctuary spell. Or at least, I assume that’s what it is since it happens every damned time I clear the second to last step before going in the door. Maybe learned to associate the two would be more accurate.  
  
I mention all this so that I can properly convey how incredibly not surprised I was when I took that very step, and my new tattoos got warmer, suddenly pulling in more power as they fought to… actually I have no idea why they’re so angry. The surprising part was just how much power they were suddenly gulping down. I don’t recall Caritas being under surveillance, mystical or otherwise, let alone something that feels so overpowering. I take a step back, confirming they cool off when outside the spell’s zone of effect. They heat up once more as I slowly walk into Caritas.  
  
Screw it, they’re running just barely hot enough to even qualify me for having a fever. I’ll just... drink some ice water with my blood, yeah. It’s probably time to actually have that conversation with Lorne about just how the sanctuary spell works. I sit down at the bar where Ramone has already placed my glass of blood.  
  
...  
  
Wait. Okay, so the tattoos are objecting strenuously to the sanctuary spell. That... means something right? They block scrying, precognitive seers, ... and modern surveillance equipment. Kind of an eclectic mix, but I’m a vampire in a TV show, so who am I to throw stones. They all turned on at once, so it’s not a piece by piece set of blocking effects, it’s some sort of systematic preventative effect? I think I hate magic for its fuzzy symbolic logic. I push my empty glass away and it’s refilled a scant moment later. Clearly, I’m protected against more than just remote viewing and extrasensory perception. Lindsey wasn’t caught or killed, so I’d imagine they couldn’t use tracking spells, or summoning spells on him either. Or directly curse him dead for that matter.  
  
Modern surveillance gear is the odd duck of the bunch, but if I ignore that for the moment or lump it under extrasensory perception with the other hyper-cognitive bullshit... Ah, Fuck it, I’m probably over thinking it, and clearly far too annoyed to think it through properly, the blood is helping though. The simplest means of accomplishing the effect would be to block the ability of magic to target my person. Okay, that makes sense, I already knew the sanctuary spell made judgment calls about the beings it was affecting since humans aren’t stopped from doing violence, and I really ought to try to remember to mention that to Lorne. I can for the Sanctuary spell’s details from him in exchange. I guess my tattoos are preventing, or at least interfering with, the spell from determining the particulars of my personhood? Thinking back to the table I saw smashed when a card game stopped being friendly, I hope that the spell’s logic doesn’t default case me as an object. Probably safest to assume it does though. Sometimes I really hate magic’s fuzzy fucking logic.  
  
My internal debate is derailed when I notice Lorne staring at me with a puzzled expression. I groan, do I want to know what these things are doing to my aura badly enough to risk Lorne doing basic math? It seems the answer is yes because I smile and wave him over. “Something wrong Lorne?” I keep my expression cautiously curious. I suppose this is the true test. Can I lie to an empath?  
  
Lorne glares at me. I guess I can’t quite fool Lorne? “Even without an aura you’re radiating smugness. What did you do?” I blink at that. I have no aura? I guess that’s better than Lorne being able to read me like a book, but still, kinda unexpected.  
  
“That’s strange.” I don’t have to fake my confusion. Actually, no, I take that back, that makes perfect sense, I’m suppressing whatever makes me register as a person, like say the auras all people have. I quickly cover my epiphany with another, “I’d have expected it to be bizarrely chaotic, but not missing,” And on that topic, take that Scoobies, I’m people! Not that I can prove it anymore... “I... uh... had a chaos mage scramble it for me.” I try to sound sheepish, but I may not have succeeded given that I was slightly distracted. Suck it eavesdroppers. Yes, you, I see you over there, listening in.  
  
“Why would you do that? That’s ... insane.” Lorne looks properly horrified, and I guess I can see how Lorne would think that. If auras work the way I’d expect from Tara bits of dialogue, the chaos I just described is how I bet a completely bat-shit crazy person would look. Granted, now I wonder what Tara will think if she sees me.  
  
I shake my finger at Lorne with a not-so-mock glare, “It’s your fault actually. You set me up with Emilia.”  
  
Lorne’s expression barely even flickers to nervousness, I suspect he’s grown used to the sanctuary spell’s protections already. “Hey now, I did no such thing. All I did was point you out to Emilia, and I thought you two would get along great! I didn’t mean any harm.” Oh, he thinks I’m angry about something Emilia did? Hardly. Emilia is fucking fantastic... or fantastic at fucking... and everything in between.  
  
I laugh at my thoughts, “that’s what I mean! Emilia and I get along beautifully. If we hadn’t been thrown together by an empathic precog I’d be incredibly suspicious of that. But that’s the point! You pulled all that out of  _my_ future by listening to  _her_  sing. Do you have any idea how mind numbingly terrifying that is? Of course I immediately sought out and found a way to scramble my future’s predictability.” I may be over acting, but between the dude in the suit eavesdropping, and the way my tattoos itch, I have plenty of annoyed to push into my speech. Suit man is definitely dinner tonight, just on principle, fuck you very much Wolfram & Hart. I sigh, “The aura thing was unexpected, but I’ll take it. Not every reader out there is as fucking Californian as you. I mean, fucks sake Lorne, you make surfer bros look positively uptight.” Misinformation rant complete, I chug glass number... 4..? 5..? of blood and take a breath. “Anyway, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here tonight. If the chaos mage was right, and any good at his job, you  _won’t_  be able to point him out to me just from looking at me.”  
  
Lorne looks thoughtful, but Ramone drops off another round and grins at me, “He may not know who you’re here to meet, but  _I_  do.” Slightly singsong voice and everything. The fucking help is mocking me.  
  
“Gods Damn It, Ramone. What did you do?” Fucking great, Ramone has some way of predicting me that got past my tattoos.  
  
Ramone shrugs at me and points at suit guy, shit-eating grin still plastered on his face, “I answered his question when he asked me if you were the Mr. Winters he was here to meet.” Oh. Okay then. I can’t really justify eating Ramone over that. Not when he’s the man that keeps my glass of blood full.  
  
But still, I stare at Ramone retreating back, “wiseass,” ... whoops, I never did order that ice water. I sigh, apparently the guy in the suit is Emil’s minion not Wolfram & Hart’s, I guess I won’t eat him seeing as it took me 2 weeks and abusing Caritas’ reputation as neutral ground just to get a meeting with that man’s minion. I roll my eyes and wave the man over to a no longer empty table. Who’d have thunk that it’d be difficult for a vampire showing up out of nowhere to get a meeting with a supernaturally aware black market arms dealer. Actually, come to think of it, I’m not sure it was the vampire part they objected to, but rather that they thought I was a cop. I shudder to think how many hoops I’d have had to jump through if I wanted anything that was actually illegal. Now, let’s find out how much a collapsible arm sword thing costs.  
  
 **\---Los Angeles Magic Shop---**  
  
I grit my teeth as another of Mother’s little migraines bounce around my skull. Whatever Mother did to me seems to be aware that I’ve accomplished what I came here to do, and is trying to drive me back to Sunnydale. I grip the bookcase to keep my hand from twitching along with the rest of me. Forcing the blade to fold back into its arm mounted holder is a pain. And that’s not even touching on how difficult it would be to explain to the owner, who is most likely some manner of practitioner, why a fucking sword just assembled itself into my hand. I don’t really have a good excuse for that, even assuming he doesn’t set me on fire before I can try. Hell, I can’t even explain how the thing really works. I may have underestimated Emil, because I strongly suspect that the device I have strapped to my arm is casually violating the laws of physics every time I trigger it. Some manner of minor magic is clearly involved, which makes me wonder if the man could get me a lightsaber if I paid him enough.  
  
Repeating that my plan is to return to Sunnydale soon like a mantra has been getting less and less effective with every passing episode, but eventually I feel confident in my control over my limbs. I take out my phone and call Amy to make sure she doesn’t already have a copy of any of the books that seem interesting. No Service. I sigh, and head outside.  
  
...  
  
No Service.  
  
I’m halfway through my checklist of common phone fixes when I realize I might be in trouble. I put the phone down on a newspaper box and take a step back. Full Bars. That low base level warm tingle that my tattoos have been giving off cuts off abruptly.  
  
I step back towards the phone. Full Bars. I pick it up. No Service, tingly tattoos. I put it down. Full Bars, tattoos go quiet. I place my finger on it. Full Bars. Another finger? Full Bars. Two fingers and a thumb? Full Bars. I pinch it between my thumb and forefinger lightly. No Service, tingles.  
  
Gods Damn It. Apparently cell tower triangulation or GPS or some other important phone related service counts as surveillance.  
  
...  
  
Also the magic seems to have a very limited understanding of what constitutes possessing an item, only extending its protections to things literally in my grasp. Magic... why are thou so bugger-fucking ridiculous half the time?  
  
I put the phone on speakerphone and call Amy, carefully never gripping the phone. For now, it can ‘belong’ to the newspaper box.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Hi Amy, Do you already have a cop-”  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“...Amy? Can you hear me?”  
  
“Hello!? Ungh.” Amy hangs up on me.  
  
I stare at the now useless, to me anyway, phone. I really should have seen that coming.  
  
I guess it’s time to go home after all. Mother’s migraine must be so pleased with itself.


	8. Interlude 1 – Greco-Roman Gossips I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV “Emilia”

“Bye Emilia.”  
  
“Bye Jack,” I close the door behind him.  
  
Am I supposed to be upset that he’s leaving me so abruptly? I think I’m supposed to be upset. Mortal women are weird like that, it makes pretending to be one rather vexing. Fortunately Jack rarely showed any more interest in going through those sorts of motions than I did, and when he did look like he was starting to notice I simply abused the blood supply issue that all males seem to share, even ones that constantly drink blood. Rational thought loses every time when confronted with a pretty face and a nice rack.

...Men!  
  
With a thought I abandon the silly mortal residence I spent the past few weeks in and return home.  
  
My nosy half brother is there when I arrive. This had better be good. “Hermes, what brings you all the way out here to see little old lesser goddess me?” I’m not bitter about the distinction. No. _Never._  
  
Hermes doesn’t seem to care, he’s practically vibrating in place. “Eris! You’ll never guess what’s happened! ... what are you wearing? Oh, I don’t care. You have to hear this.” Of all the... Of course it’s gossip that has my brother so excited.  
  
Changing into my toga with another thought, I yawn and roll my eyes. “Oh, pray tell, what has father stuck his cock in this time?” See this face? This is my enthused face, I swear.  
  
“Please, nothing so commonplace as that! Would I come all this way to see you if it was just that?” Okay, he might have a point. He generally doesn’t bother with his ‘lowly half sister.’  
  
“Oh, you in particular will love this. It seems our cousin Janus got rather drunk at Bacchus’s latest party and decided it would be a marvelous idea to kidnap a mortal from one of  _those_  worlds. Treaty violations be damned! Only now he can’t seem to remember where he left him and no one can seem to locate him.”  
  
Well... if he had to get caught, at least he’s also drunkenly forgotten that I gave him the idea, and helped him do it. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit I tricked him? I roll my eyes, “and are we sure he didn’t just imagine the whole thing in a drunken stupor?”  
  
“Oh very, the Elder Powers are all in a tizzy. Apparently our mysterious little mortal has been making ripples in their precious plans.” Even my brother snorts at that.  
  
“And they can’t find him? Have they checked with Uncle Hades and his crowd? Mortals do tend to die after all.” It couldn’t possibly be that I was hiding him while enchanting his body to hide him for me. After all, if they find him, my game ends.  
  
“Well of course they have, and that’s the best part, he did die, and he  _was_  there. But! Before he could finish processing he went  _missing_. From the afterlife.”  
  
Wait... “What!? Souls don’t go missing from the afterlife.” Not even souls from those sorts of places. They don’t. It doesn’t happen. Even better, I didn’t do it!  
  
“I know! I haven’t had this much to talk about in ages! The death gods are in uproar because a soul is missing. The Powers are all yelling at each other while watching everything slide towards chaos, which I so want you to promise you’ll make sure I’m there to watch when you go to gloat about to Concordia.”  
  
I nod distractedly at my brother. This is amazing! I have no idea what happened! I love surprises, they are so the very best part of being a Chaos goddess. “Come on Brother, I want to go rub it in her stuck uptight face right away.” This will be so much fun!


	9. Malfunctioning Witches

**\---Greater Los Angeles Area---**  
  
I lift up the dumpster's lid, shoving Beardsley in before allowing it to fall back down again.  
  
"SIGH!" I declare to the night while making my way back out of the alley and resuming my walk. Maybe selling the truck to buy a folding sword wasn't the best idea..? pffftt... I regret nothing! Except, you know, for the part where I'm walking through the outskirts of Los Angeles with a bag full of the loot I didn't want to part with, or couldn't hock in time, looking for a new set of wheels.  
  
I think... I dislike feeding on the homeless, I should stop doing it. I don't mean that as a slight against the homeless, they taste the same as anyone else. But it's like opening up your happy meal and finding an empty toy bag inside. Sure, the food still tastes fine, but now you're upset and the whole experience is ruined. I can't shake the sense that killing someone and then not taking their stuff is conduct unbecoming of a professional murderhobo, even if it is only because of the other guy failing to have anything to take.  
  
Beardman had been especially upsetting. He didn't struggle, just told me repeatedly "I'm no one" while trying to back through the wall.  
  
I sigh again, "DISA... POINTE-. Oh, hello!" I whistle. She's... perfect. Black. An absolutely fan-fucking-tastic rear end... which it looks like some overweight white guy is trying to force his way into. Not okay, she's mine now, I've decided. Out with you!  
  
I cross the street and pull the guy out of the back of my new pickup truck, spinning him around to face me. ' _STOP_!'  
  
Huh, well, that's unfortunate. I'm left staring into the eyes of an extremely confused looking... construction worker, maybe? A sensation not unlike trying to drink from a straw and finding out that the cup has already be reduced to just slowly melting ice leaves my expression mirroring his in confusion.  
  
I recover first, reaching up and snapping his neck with a sharp twist. I push him back into the truck, filling what little bit of space isn't taken up by bags of... concrete mix? It's probably vendor trash, but it's better than the nothing the Bearded Wonder had on him. Maybe I'll find a use for it back home some day. Although the only person I can think of that would know how to turn the bags into actual concrete things is a Xander of the future that Mother has declared verboten. Meh, whatever, mine now.  
  
I must have been pumping some manner of power into my Thrall that is now being used to power my tattoo's fight against the wretched evils of cell signal towers. Fishing the keys out of dudeguy's pocket, I close the the gate and admire my new prize. Flatbed long enough to "sleep" in? check. Windowless flatbed cover to keep the sun out of my fucking face? check. I'll have to block the gate window, but shouldn't be too hard. Might need to find a way of ventilating it lest I discover vamps are susceptible to heat stoke the hard way.  
  
I do believe I shall call her... Sheila. Even if she isn't blue, or a tank.  
  
It occurs to me as I pull out onto the road that I have no experience driving anything this size. Fun.  
  
 **\---Abandoned mansion---**  
  
I pull up in front of the mansion a little over an hour before dawn.  
  
Silence from inside? That's... strange, I was expecting that, having been gone for two weeks, the place to be full of more obnoxious squatters.  
  
I push open the door cautiously, half expecting to find a shotgun or crossbow rigged to shoot at any entrant. Disappointingly, if there was any such attempted donation to my collection of weaponry it was stolen prior to my return along with the blackout curtains. That actually explains the lack of habitation, the rooms are quite airy without those.  
  
Given that the creepy demon statue has been demolished with what looks like extreme prejudice, I elect to blame the Scoobies for my home's current state of ransack.  
  
Fuck, I really need to get around to learning my way about the tunnels under this city. Looks like I'm waiting out the Sun in Sheila today.  
  
 **\---Madison Residence---**  
  
I knock on Amy's door. I'm going to need to find a way around my cellular difficulties. It's just not worth dealing with T-9 style texting.  
  
Her, I assume, father answers the door. "Hi... Mr. Madison? I'm Jack, is Amy home?"  
  
Mr. Madison seems to be giving me a once over, as though trying to decide if he approves of my talking to his daughter. Good man; keep my witch safe.  
  
...  
  
Then he completely spoils the effect by exhibiting all of the poor sense that led to him marrying Catherine and invites me in, indicating Amy is in the study before just... wandering away. The kindest explanation I can come up with is that Catherine did some work on the man's mind to make him just go with the flow around here. I have to shake my head at the foolishness of it all.  
  
I walk into the study, which is really more Catherine's private library, and am appeased slightly by the startled look on Amy's face and the smell of fear. At least someone in this town appreciates how dangerous it is. Granted, it's exactly the wrong person of course, but it does go some way towards explaining how there are any humans left here. Although... She looks... guilty? rather than concerned. That's... concerning.  
  
"Evening, Amy. You look nervous. Is there something wrong?" I don't appear to be helping by leaning in towards her and smiling. She doesn't seem to find my smile reassuring in any way shape or form. I can't imagine why.  
  
"You- You- I'm Sorry!"   
  
...the fuck is she on about now? I raise an eyebrow and wait for her to make sense of herself, smile turned grin fixed firmly in place. It seems to alarm her for some reason.  
  
"How did you get in here?" she seems legitimately confused. Did she have some manner of sixth sense my trip to L.A. has rendered blind to me?  
  
"Uh... the front door?" I glibly gesture back the way I came.  
  
"But I dis-invited you!" She slams her hand over her mouth. Gods, it's like we're in a TV show or something. Still, teaching her not to let important information slip will have to take a back seat to dealing with her new found... Actually I have no idea what she's trying to accomplish here. Is she trying to turn in her two weeks? Mutinying? ...Teenagers...  
  
"And?" I roll my eyes at her, making sure to keep her hands and lips in my field of vision the entire time in case she tries something fiery.  
  
"Vampires need an invitation to enter!" she hisses at me. She's much cuter, but no more informative, when she's riled up than when she's terrified. Both appear to be easy enough states to drive her into though, sadly.  
  
"Yes, which your loving father was happy to provide." Alarm flashes across her face, "No, I didn't do anything to him. We have a deal remember... or are you seriously attempting to make that, 'had a deal,' now?" Dealing with this after being stuck in an oven masquerading as a truck, unable to even fall asleep to make the time pass, is making me tetchy. Knowing it doesn't seem to be helping me suppress it though.  
  
"No! I just- You-" She's crying now. Why is she crying? Crying usually happens during the killing, maiming, and eating stages, not the 'tell me whats going on' stages, of a conversation.  
  
"Okay. Clearly something happened while I was gone. You were fine when I left, and now you're a gibbering wreck... Oh... Oh, gods damn him. I am going to rip Rack's fucking heart out, without killing him first." My vision is actually tinging red in rage-- I didn't know that could actually happen?-- that fucking fuck broke my witch.  
  
I'm about to charge out into the night when Amy manages to resume contributing to the conversation "Wha- Who?" ... I thought I was reasonably clear. "Who- Please don't kill me." Her fear is filling the room.  
  
I pull in my fangs and take deep, purely unnecessary breaths, until the red recedes from my vision. Clearly I'm making Amy even more unhinged than she already was and that won't help us sort anything out. "Use your words, Amy."  
  
She nods, takes in deep breathes of her own, and appears to calm down. Slightly. Maybe? I keep her hands in sight and watch for flames. "Who's Rack? Why are you going to rip his heart out?"  
  
"...You don't know who Rack is?" She shakes her head no vigorously enough that I'm concerned about whiplash.  
  
... I stare at her. She stares at me. None of this makes any sense.  
  
"Okay. You've never met Rack?" more vigorous head shaking. "Then... what... is your malfunction? You were fine two weeks ago and now we're back to the 'please don't kill mes' and you literally twitching in place like a fucking cornered rabbit." Going to pieces under stress is not a useful trait in minions.  
  
"You-" Deep breaths Amy, "You tortured that guy" the fuck? ... does she mean that uh ... Emilia's ex? How did she? "It- It was on the news. I recognized your car."  
  
My car? I had a truck when I was conducting my stress testing, "...what are you talking about?"  
  
"The cop! That you killed with a road flare!" well that clears up nothing, but at least she's done stuttering.  
  
"I didn't torture any cop- ... oh. You mean the patrolman? He was already dead when I found the road flares. Wait, THAT is what set you off? Fucks sake, woman."  
  
"You only said you wouldn't eat us. Not anything about..." she looks uncomfortable.  
  
"So. All of this, " I gesture between us, "was because I didn't know if Vampire bites could be swabbed for DNA." I suddenly appreciate why Giles cleans his glasses so much, it'd be very cathartic right now, I settle for pinching the bridge of my nose. Amy is mouthing DNA silently and looking confused. If that isn't an indictment of the Sunnydale school system I don't know what is. I wish I could claim surprise. "Not important. So, let me make sure I have this straight. You decided that our deal was too specific, found and cast a dis-invite spell, and then panicked when I got in anyway?" At her nod, "And you've never met Rack?" How the... wow, I guess Amy's... Amy-ness is all her mother's doing. That... actually doesn't shock me. Err... speaking of Amy's mom, "And... how has your dad not come crashing in here to see why we're yelling at each other?" I really need to investigate how much Catherine broke him.  
  
"Mom put a soundproofing spell on the room."  
  
"Oh. Well. Uh... " where do we go from here? "How about we make the deal I agree not to eat, or otherwise harm, you, or your dad, and we get back to work?"  
  
"You're not mad?"  
  
"Not really. Confused as fuck as to what you thought you were going to accomplish with a dis-invite spell, but not really mad. I mean, come on, what exactly was your plan there?"  
  
"...what do you mean?"  
  
"You dis-invited me right? which would imply you thought our deal was over, yeah?" An amusing thought all by itself, as if I'd let you slip though my fingers.  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"So... What was your plan? What were you going to do when I set fire to the house? Or drove my truck into it?" Or fucking shot at you with a gun from outside the house you silly... I sigh, "We'll work on it. Finding solutions to those two will be good practice."  
  
"Uh..." Amy gulps loudly and latches onto my subject change. "Practice? For what?"  
  
"Why did you think I went to L.A. to find out about a sanctuary spell? You spend 8 hours at night unconscious, and I can't be out in the day, keeping a roof and walls around us sounds important, yeah? So, we're going to protection ward the everloving shit out of our homes."  
  
"Oh, okay." The idea of doing magic seems to have gotten her to  _finally_  start calming down a bit. "So... uh... who's Rack?" Oh, Gods Damn It.


	10. Allergies

**\---Madison Residence---**  
  
"...Rack is..." How best to put this? "A warlock. The kind of warlock that makes your mother look positively tame." I pause a moment while Amy starts to look nervous. Wait, no, that's her nervousness face but she doesn't smell nervous...  
  
"...Really?" Oh. Very subtle, Amy. Okay, clearly I need to nip this in the bud. I do not need Amy going to Rack for protection from Catherine. Or from me for that matter. "And you thought he'd done something to me?" That, at least, seems like honest confusion.  
  
Okay, Amy, I can play this game. "Well... yeah. I come back from Los Angeles and find you in your mother's study out of your gourd with fear..? Rack, he's got a reputation for digging around in the darker magics. The kind that can mess up your head." I look pointedly at her. "He's like a drug dealer. The first hit is free, but after that..." I shrug, feigning disinterest. "In retrospect, I was being silly, I think you're probably too old for him by now."  
  
"Too old?" Amy sounds confused, I guess subtlety wont work here.  
  
"Yeah. His interest in, ah,  _younger_ , girls is apparently noteworthy even among demons." I shrug again, "I never really saw the appeal in girls that haven't had their period yet, but," another shrug.  
  
"Oh.  _OH!_  Gross!" And finally Amy is exuding the correct scents. Fear, disgust, anger. I'll have to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't backslide. Last thing I need is a junkie minion with divided loyalties, the idea was barely tolerable when I thought he'd gotten there first. I never did like sharing.  
  
"Yeah, and that first hit is free business I mentioned? It's not always entirely... voluntary. So it's best to just stay clear of him." My piece complete, I nod in agreement with myself and move on. Oh, and speaking of disasters waiting to happen... "I need you to call Willow." I pull the Rosenberg's phone number out of my pocket.  
  
...  
  
"What? Why can't you call her?"  
  
Well lets see, my cell phone currently cant get signal while in my hand, and refuses to detect my voice when I do manage to complete a call. But no, of course I can call Willow myself. "Uh,  _hello._  Vampire? Severely allergic to trees here."  
  
One of Amy's, 'I'm a teenage girl and I'm exasperated by you old people,' sighs later, she glares at me. "Seriously?" Excellent, we've successfully moved on from Rack.  
  
"Okay, fine. I'm actually allergic to self righteousness too. If I try to talk to her it'll all just end in tears. First there'd be the indignant shouting of 'you're a vampire' and then there's the bit with the grrr-ing and the arrg-ing... and then there's the messy deaths... and oh gods I don't feel like dealing with it." So, be a good minion and make the problem go away.  
  
Amy smirks at that, nodding. Then a thoughtful look ghosts across her face before she fists her hands on her hips and glares at me. "And just  _what_ do you need from Willow that you don't think I can do?"  
  
For fucks sake... I guess that rivalry was pre-existing? "Okay. One, no, nothing like that. Nothing magical. B, I want her to hack into the city records and get us a map of Sunnydale, including the sewers, and if possible the various caves and tunnels. Triple I, yes, I'm sure you could cast whatever technomancy is required to pull it off just fine, Amy. But! If  _Willow_  gets arrested, that's Mr. Giles' problem. On the other hand, if  _you_ get arrested, then I have to drive my ass up to Stockton and eat an entire prison complex worth of guards... and it turns out law enforcement types go straight to my hips! So really, I'd rather just, not have to do that. Okay?" Huh, I know father liked that joke... but can vampires actually get fat?  
  
Amy is giving me that funny look she gets some times when she can't decide if she should be happy or upset with me. I've been getting that a lot tonight. "Okay, fine! I'll call Willow, jeez. What do I tell her I need this for anyway?"  
  
How the fuck should I know, you're the one who grew up with her. I just watched her on TV. "You could tell her we're doing an amateur archaeology project?"  
  
... We both pause for a moment and then sigh, "no..." in unison. "She'd want to join in."  
  
"Oh! Tell her you're looking to avoid running into any more vampires and demons so you want to make a map of where they're likely to show up?" That... isn't actually a terrible idea, we probably should make a map of places Amy shouldn't go alone. I'll probably have to find a way to phrase it that's less patronizing though if I want her to stick to it.  
  
"... Same problem. What do we actually need the maps for anyway?"  
  
"It's tradition!" I grin at her.  
  
"...Tradition?" she doesn't look impressed. That's weird... oh right.  
  
"Yeah, what kind of treasure hunt would it be without a map? I did mention the treasure, right?" I'm very well aware I did no such animal.  
  
"... treasure?" Amy's grin is suddenly no less enthused that my own. "Tell me more." Finally, I've gotten her priorities straightened out.  
  
"Okay, so treasure is valuable stuff that other people left behind..."  
  
"... _Jack!_ "  
  
 **\---Bellevu Residence---**  
  
I'm not actually sure what Amy told Willow. I don't actually care either, beyond the fact that it worked.  
  
It took Willow three days to get back to Amy with the files, and then another two for the local print shop-- And oh, gods, those are still things back now? --to print out our huge map of the town.  
  
I have said map taped up on Mrs Bellevu's dining room wall, she did pay for them after all, it only seemed fair that she get to see them.  
  
Speaking of Mrs. Bellevu... is she bringing over  _another_  batch of cookies? I really need to watch what I say around Thralls now that I'm not accidentally turning them into sandblasted soup crackers. She's been baking for 7 hours now, and I haven't the foggiest how to get her to stop. I sigh, patting the little old lady on the head, before watching her head back to the kitchen. Yup, she's gotten out the mixing bowl again. I wonder what kind she'll make now? She's got to be running out of supplies. Shoving one of the... snicker-doodles? into my mouth I hand the plate full of cookies over to Amy who seems to be taking the whole Thralling her neighbor thing far better than expected. Maybe its all the free cookies I've been stuffing her with? She says magic makes her hungry, but I don't recall any magic being done recently. I'd tell her it's more likely the period she recently started, but I'm fairly certain I've already mentioned how little interest I have in experiencing fire first hand. I'm sure she already knows I can smell the blood.  
  
Unfortunately, Willow's hacking skills can't do anything to obtain proper maps of the tunnels because they don't really exist. "Okay. So... ummm... Amy, is it just me or is the local geological survey completely fucking useless?" I throw my hands out to the sides indicating the whole map in front of me.  
  
There's a whirring noise and Amy screams. "Jack! What the fuck!? Is that a sword?"  
  
"Huh? Oh. Gods damn it. This thing is a pain in the ass to retract." I start the obnoxious process of forcing a three foot long blade of high grade titanium back into a nine inch long holster.  
  
"GAH! Why do you even have that thing? You almost just stabbed me in the face! My face Jack, I would very much like it to remain unstabbed."  
  
Okay, Amy may have a point there. "Sorry. Forgot I was wearing it." Click, click, and push... aha!  
  
"How do you forget you're wearing a sword?"  
  
"I put it on a week ago, and I've just sort of gotten used to the weight... Being supernaturally strong probably helped." Sword returned to its holster, I return to glaring at the map.  
  
"...How... do you shower with that... urg... Jack when was the last time you showered?"  
  
"Emilia's, she liked morning shower sex." I circle possible site number 12 before allowing myself to reminisce. I'm too annoyed to properly enjoy the memory though. Would it have fucking killed my Brother to mention, at any point, some manner of landmark near wherever he found the damn Gem? But no, I get to work off a montage of roads collapsing.  
  
"Jack! That's gross. You haven't seen Emilia in almost a week. ... The fact that you remember her name is actually kinda weird." Huh, that is weird. Then again...  
  
I turn to look at Amy, she's got one arm on her hip and the other is pointing at me accusingly with a half eaten cookie. "What? It's not like I sweat, or grow skin cells to then have flake off or any of that stuff anymore. What does it matter? I clearly don't smell or you'd have noticed before now."  
  
"That is not the point! Upstairs! Shower! Now!"  
  
"Fucks sake woman, hold on. Let me finish this section of the map first and then I'll meet you up there. Jesus, you're as bad as Emilia when you're..." I trail off as warning klaxons go off in my brain.  
  
"Oh my god, No! I'm not- " She huffs, "Alone, Jack, go upstairs and shower, alone." Right. Waking up on fire bad.  
  
I roll my eyes at my hormonally addled witch, who has apparently forgotten which of us is in charge. Then I glare at the frustratingly incomplete map. If the rest of the city is like the half I already did there's going to be over two dozen possible sites to check, "Fuck it. Fine. I'm going. You can deal with marking the map."  
  
The smell of oatmeal raisin cookies is coming from the kitchen when I pass it on the way to the stairs. Women! They're all insane.  
  
I'm standing in the shower glaring at the water a few minutes later when my tattoos suddenly start to glow and skip over warm in favor of searing heat. Then just as suddenly it's all over a little under a minute later. In that minute I've skipped from happily sated directly to 'fucking starving.'  
  
What the hell was that? "AMY! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO!?"


	11. Digging is for Minions

**\---Bellevu Residence---**  
  
"So... Amy... to recap, you didn't just try to scry or film me while I was in the shower? Or, in fact, do anything at all magical or espionage-like, at all, in the past... say, fifteen minutes? You have no idea what the naked vampire, standing in the dining room is talking about?" I'm not technically naked, I'm wearing my folding sword holster after all.  
  
Amy nods distractedly at me from her corner. Apparently an angry looking naked vampire was cause for retreat.  
  
"Well, damn. I was really hoping you had."  
  
"Wait, what? I'm not a peeping tom!"  
  
"If you didn't just try to scry for me... someone else, or something else, did. Worse, I have no fucking clue who or what would try to do that or why. " Maybe The Mayor? Or whatever thrice damned power decided to drag me to Sunnydale? Mother might be upset that she can't See me anymore. And not even knowing if the... nouns... screwing with me are people or things is getting kind of old. I'm just going to name he, she, or it, Tom. and be done with it. My thoughts are interrupted by a hand feeling up my arm.  
  
...It's not Amy. She's still in her corner trying, and failing, to suppress an acute case of the giggles. "Oh. Hello, Mrs Bellevu. Are you done baking cookies now?" Why didn't I eat her again? Oh yeah, the threshold that keeps the idiot fledges at bay. Home ownership laws are weird.   
  
Damn, the sun is out. I'm going to have to drink the warm lemonade.  
  
I give her a mental nudge, sending her off to watch TV in the living room. If past experience is any judge she'll do that until she literally can't any more, so I make her take one of the plates of cookies, before I flounce- and isn't that a silly sounding word for angry walking- into the kitchen and down my entire supply of blood packets, cold. It's horrible. I'm still hungry, but I'm less liable to eat someone useful on impulse. Hmmm... I wonder if there's a blood type that fuels magic more efficiently? Slayer blood is supposed to be more potent, but also an aphrodisiac... maybe there are other... vintages..? of note? Something to look into when I'm not hunting down the vampire version of the Holy Grail.  
  
When I get back to the dining room, Amy has finally left the corner I chased her into while interrogating her. The red tint to her checks, and repeating a whispered mantra of, "do not stare at the crazy naked vampire," rotating emphasis between crazy and vampire, reminds me that this is probably a problem best addressed while wearing pants.  
  
"Amy... you are aware that I can hear you right? And repeatedly chanting do not stare only actually helps if you don't then proceed to stare."  
  
"What!?" she eeeps. I guess she wasn't.  
  
"Super hearing, just one of the many benefits of the flying brick package."  
  
"Flying Brick?" Amy continues to stare, but her expression turns puzzled  
  
"Yeah... as in like Superman?" More confusion from Amy who's mouthing 'brick' at me, "It's a... comic books thing. I think? Strong, fast, tough, and can fly. Usually with a whole host of other nonsensical powers just like Superman. Flying Bricks are basically Superman knockoffs"  
  
"...You think you're Superman?" Not quite the takeaway I was aiming for there, and she doesn't sound properly supportive at all. Bad minion... no more cookies for you.  
  
"Well... no, but I'm strong, fast, tough, and in theory if Dracula can do it then I can probably learn to fly too. I also have the excellent sense of hearing... although my eye lasers currently seem to the on fritz, making old ladies bake cookies for 7 hours instead of..." Well honestly I can't think of anything better for her to be doing, and the cookies are pretty good even to my vampire shifted tastebuds.  
  
"I'm pretty sure Superman likes the sun." She has a point, and I'm not really sure what actually made Bizarro Supes tick so I let that slide unmentioned.  
  
I throw my hands up into the air. "Everyone's a critic." I'd be more upset that she doesn't consider me a candidate for the role of Superman if I wasn't pretty sure I was a shoo-in for The Joker. "Anyway, I'm going to go get dressed before Tom takes another shot at me." On the way up the stairs I pause in front of a mirror to try and sort out just what Amy found so damned distracting. I roll my eyes at myself when that works exactly as well as you'd expect and settle for staring down at myself. Hmmm... that's odd. I appear to be gaining muscle mass, not much, but still, any at all is unexpected. How I'm doing that is anyone's guess, I wasn't kidding when I told Amy my body didn't bother with things like sweat or the revolving layer of skin cells any more, and I can't say I've gotten much exercise lately. I suppose "it's a vampire thing" makes as much or more sense than, "Hollywood casting agencies did it" for why all the recurring vampires looked to be in great shape.   
  
Now... where did I leave my pants?  
  
 **\---Bellevu Residence---**  
  
I stare at the map on the wall. Thirty seven possible locations. Gods, there are a lot of crypts in this hell hole, how did William... oh right, he just dug up all of them with a horde of minions. Ungh, "Amy, I think you need to call Willow again."  
  
"Really Jack, can't you just look whatever it is up online yourself? Mrs. Bellevu does have a computer..." Amy points at the offending dread machine.  
  
"No, I really can't," I hold the Du Lac Cross up at the Gateway computer as if to ward away a vampire. I've found twirling a cross-- one that Amy isn't aware is specifically warped enough to allow a vampire to hold-- in my bare hands, has done wonders for her belief that I could be Clark Kent. Also, when I find the Gem of Amarra, she wont associate the start of my exhibiting bizarre immunities with our new treasure. Win-Win, I think.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It uses Internet Explorer as it's browser!" Amy doesn't seem to appreciate how horrifying that is. Internet Explorer. As in the original. I shudder at the thought. Amy makes exasperated noises beside me while I elaborate, "I need a... I think it's called ground penetrating radar? Either way, it does exactly what I just said, so we should be able to check a few of these spots out without having to go spelunking."  
  
"So... like a metal detector?"  
  
"Sort of. More like... a detector for caverns in the ground where metal might be. Better range than a metal detector too I think."  
  
"Would a really strong metal detector work though?"  
  
"Maybe a  _really_  strong one," At this point Amy smells far too pleased with herself to merit anything but my undivided attention.  
  
"So, how about I  _don't call Willow_... and we use a spell that detects metal?"  
  
"Amy... Do you know a spell that detects metal?" My grin is positively feral.  
  
"Uh huh," Amy's expression matches her scent, and is entirely justified in my opinion.  
  
"And can it tell the difference between say... gold coins, and... iron hinges?" Crypts, sadly, are never entirely stone.  
  
"Ummm..." Oh, damn it, that wont work then. "Coins and hinges no, but gold and iron yes." Well then! Fuck your horde of minions with their own shovels, William, I have a specialist. I give my specialist back her plate of cookies. Good Girl.  
  
 **\---Sunnydale Cemetery---**  
  
Amy neglected to mention that the spell takes over an hour for her to cast and involves a fuckton of candles. At night. Near where you'd expect to find crypts.  
  
It's our second attempt tonight, fifth overall. Amy's circle of candles flicker in the breeze, easily visible from where I'm perched on top of one of the larger non-crosslike grave markers. Also easily visible is the rapidly approaching shitshow.  
  
I'm about to jump down and run interference so the Scoobies don't catch sight of Amy when I'm spared the hassle by a pair of fledglings accidentally volunteering for the job.  
  
It's like watching a Three Stooges episode. The fledgling vampires are stronger and faster than the Scoobies, but they're also too fucking stupid to take proper advantage of that. So, inevitably, after a solid minute of faffing about with Oz and Xander, one of them gets staked in the back by Willow and the other takes off at a run swearing vengeance.  
  
Understandably the Scoobs look tired but not overly concerned by the fleeing vampire's threats.  
  
Team Scooby calls it a night without noticing myself or Amy, I think I hear Xander wondering if something is broken but I can't quite make out just what at this distance.  
  
Their lack of concern regarding the fledgling's threats are retroactively validated a moment later when it gets too close to Amy and I lop it's head off. I never get tired of that brief look of shock and betrayal on the now free-falling head before it falls to dust when I do that.  
  
Amy no longer seems concerned by approaching fledges. We had to repeat the ritual at the first site after she scrambled backwards through her candles to get away from a cloud of dust. I suppose by now she takes it on faith that my sub-vocally growled declaration of, "mine!" means I'm on top of things security wise. She finishes up her ritual and sighs disappointedly. "Nothing here either."  
  
"Damn. Alright, on to site number six." This is going to take forever, I don't want to think about what it would have been like to dig all of these up. The level of patience my Brother occasionally exhibited is simply astonishing. And that's ignoring that he could live with Mother for a century. I almost drop the box of candles shuddering at the idea.


	12. Interlude 2 - Pavlov's Laughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV Amy

> **\---Sunnydale Cemeteries---**
> 
> I stare at the crypt. It looks just like the previous six. “I guess there’s a rule against originality in crypt design?” Jack smirks. He seems to find my observation amusing for some reason he isn’t sharing.
> 
> That kind of worries me actually. Jack is generally all about oversharing. Oh  _Goddess_ , the things I never wanted to know and can never un-hear or un-see now.
> 
> Next to me Jack rubs his hands together excitedly, Goddess save me from enthusiastic vampires, "I have a good feeling about this one... What is that? Can you smell that?"
> 
> Uh-uh Jack, not going to do it. I know better than to ask what you smell. Fool me once, I've learned my lesson. Enthusiastic, and wildly inappropriate, vampires. "Do vampires even have feelings? I mean I've seen you do Happy, Hungry, and Angry, but even puppies can manage those." Jack opens his mouth to respond, but long term exposure to his brand of humor already has me raising my hand to stop him as I realize my mistake. "And no, Jack, that is  _NOT_ an invitation to start peeing on things, or hump my leg... Or chew up my shoes." I stare at him, waiting for any further signs of amusement.
> 
> Jack's huffs, and then mutters, "Spoilsport." Rolling my eyes, I shoo him off to patrol the area while I get to work setting up the candles so I can work my magic. Again. I think if someone had told me that I would one day manage to find a magic spell boring, instead of awe inspiring or, after my mom tried to steal my body, terrifying, I'd- -SNAP- Oh what did Jack do now?
> 
> I look towards the noise. Oh god there’s a giant lizard demon charging at me. It looks hungry. Why do they always look hungry? I scream, scrambling backwards. I think I'm still screaming when I trip over a rock and tumble backwards. Oh God oh God oh God I'm going to  _die_. My eyes screw themselves shut, they don't want to see me get ripped to shreds any more than I do. I hear the thing hit me, making a loud, wet, thunking noise as it... cackles at me..?
> 
> Wait, I know that laugh. I'm not in pain. My hands start crawling up and down my body searching for wounds while I pry one of my eyes open and force myself to look at the … At Jack slamming that  _ridiculously_ over-sized hammer, that he’s been insisting we bring with us everywhere, into the lizard demon thing. If the demon's face is any indication, it's hardly the first time Jack's hit it, and it sounds like it hurts. Jack and the green demon are whirling around lashing out at each other, neither one ever standing still, they're both moving so fast they're blurring at the edges. I look away. This part is never pretty and I really don't want to puke up lunch. Not again.
> 
> I need to calm down. Breathe in. Breathe out. Jack's doing that insane cackle he does when he's having fun fighting. Breathe in. Breathe out. I'm not sure he even hears himself doing it. Breathe in. Breathe out. He's having fun. It'll be fine. Breathe in. Breathe out. My limbs stop shivering and I shakily climb to my feet, continuing to listen to the sounds of battle and Jack's laughter.
> 
> It can't  _possibly_ be healthy to find a vampire laughing maniacally like a cartoon villain calming. Then again, he mostly seems to do it when he's busy reducing something that tried to hurt me into paste. So I guess I can't be blamed for learning to like it.
> 
> I think of that dream I had yesterday- Goddess, I've become nocturnal. I dream during the day now?- of my mom coming back to finish the job of killing me. Or steal my body back. I'm not sure which dream I hate more. I'm never strong enough to fight her. My mom  _terrifies_ me, that can't be normal. Can't be healthy. Breathe in. Breathe out. Just like in my dream, Jack showed up. Breathe in. Breathe out. Just like in my dream, he saved me. It's what he does. Laughing like a maniac and gleefully murdering anything that tries to hurt me. Breathe in. Breathe out. My mom can't get to me anymore. Jack will eat her. I giggle. It's probably hysterics.
> 
> I woke up that evening with a smile on my face. I dreamt of my mom being ripped apart by a crazed vampire and woke up smiling. Who does that? Breathe in. Breathe out. I think I might be a terrible person. Breathe in. Breathe out. Doesn't matter.  ** _I'm safe_. ** Behind me Jack's started interspersing profanity and shouts of, "Mine!” into his crazed laughter. I'm not a super big fan of the implications of that last one, but I think I can live with it. I might even live long enough to see graduation. Goddess this town is depressing. And Terrifying. At least Jack never looks at me like his next meal. For a vampire he's weirdly good about keeping a tight rein on that around me. I've seen how he sometimes stares at a passing jogger when he's stuck inside all day, but never at me.
> 
> I make the mistake of looking over when the sounds of battle stop. I spin right back around and resume staring directly away from the sight. Jack has apparently moved on the desecrating the corpse portion of his nightly entertainment. I think I just threw up a little.  _Yup_. Definitely just threw up a little. Breathe in. Breathe out. Behind me Jack is grumbling angrily about evolution. Finally, a topic that doesn’t make my brain want to gibber incoherently. How someone can be so very, very fascinated by magic, and still get so incredibly upset by the existence of magical creatures. And he seems to take it personally when magic doesn’t behave in a manner he considers consistent. Seriously it’s...  _magic_ , it just... that’s just how it is.
> 
> Finally something approaching calm, I force myself to focus on my work. I studiously look at nothing but my arranging of the candles. Jack eventually comes back over and plops himself down on a headstone nearby. "So," he starts twirling a pair of sharp looking spike of bone in his hands like they’re magic wands. "That smell I mentioned? Apparently that’s what a Polgara Demon smells like. Female… I think. That or I did something unfortunate during the fight. Or they don’t have genders. Hmmm..." He pauses, holding up one of the bloody spikes, "Anyhoo, the important part is that they have these awesome skewer things that retract into their arms. Apparently they're stupidly hard to break. Like, I actually tried and couldn’t do it. I had to dig this one out of it's arm muscles, which I found could break, or rip, cut, whatever. I think I might need a new Leatherman now though." He looks down at himself, “And maybe a new shirt too.” Oh. Wow. There’s more than a few holes the size of those spikes in his shirt. That must have hurt... I shudder. That... that’s what that thing wanted to do to me?
> 
> "Gee, thanks for that visual. Do I even want to know why you've decided to keep those things?" Why Amy, why? Why do I let myself asks these questions.
> 
> "Oh! My Brother William likes to call himself Spike, I figured I'd give him one for Christmas," Jack's answer isn’t nearly as horrifying as I expected until I realize the implications of the way he verbally capitalized the B in brother. It sounds just like the M when he talks about Drusilla... Oh Goddess! There are two of them!?


	13. Scooby Snacks

**\---Sunnydale Cemeteries---**  
  
"You know, when I agreed with you that it was weird that all the crypts kinda looked the same yesterday I didn't expect the universe would comes up with… this." I mean, I figured it was just potential evidence that this is all some TV Show world with a low set design budget. I look the rather bizarre crypt over briefly before concluding that unlike the previous nine this one really doesn't even begin to match what I saw on the show. "Amy, this isn't it, it looks completely wrong." But, at least we're starting our night on a new note.  
  
“Wrong?” Amy is still doing the trying to stare in every direction thing she started doing when that Polgara Demon got so close to her yesterday. Poor showing on my part really, I didn't realize the smell was anything so dangerous. The show somehow managed to fail in its conveyance of scent, which is really rather sad as there is so much information available that way. Ah well, now it'll be another few days before Amy stops twitching at random noises. On the plus side she doesn't seem to be putting any energy into her glares when she hears me call her 'my' witch. "Hello?" I apparently forgot to answer her in the midst of thinking about her.  
  
“Oh... Yeah, it looks nothing like the description of the crypt we’re looking for.” Amy has been getting better about not asking awkward questions like, ‘Who told you? How do you know this? Did you really need to actually beat that man to death with his own arms?’ which I’m choosing to take as proof that those basic psychology courses father took back in the day still apply even after his inter-dimensional kidnapping.  
  
"So we skip it?"  
  
"uh… well… maybe not. I mean, we did find that kick ass door knocker in number 4. So just because the treasure we're looking for isn't here doesn't mean there isn't something to be found." One day I shall have that door knocker enchanted to bite anyone that tries to use it, it'll be hilarious, and an awesome way to preemptively maim any  _overly polite_ enemies that come a knocking on my door. Hmmm... then again, if he ever actually held an election, I’d vote for him. Assuming I can vote. Mother  _probably_ didn’t file for a death certificate before burying me in the back yard right? Oh who the fuck knows, Mother could have filled out the form in Old English or ancient Sumerian just because it amused her briefly.  
  
... I should learn how write in ancient Sumerian. I add it to  _the list_.  
  
"…Okay…" Amy sighs, and starts setting out her candles. Dear Sweet Christ on a Cracker woman! Could you possibly be any less enthusiastic about casting magic? It's magic! You are about to chant nonsense at the ground and then demand that it tell you what the fuck is down there _. AND THEN IT FUCKING ANSWERS YOU!_  How is that not absolutely fucking amazing!? I can’t even levitate a fucking pencil yet and I’m still excited every time it twitches. Granted, after an hour of watching a twitching pencil I wind up needing to down another cup of lemonade, but the microwave helps make it slightly less atrocious tasting. I think I’m making progress.  
  
I find a convenient, and much closer than usual, headstone to keep watch from. I have no more interest in a repeat of yesterday than Amy does after all. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. The fight with the Polgara demon was fucking amazing. I got to hit a demon in the head with a twenty pound sledge hammer. Repeatedly. But still, I'd rather not have to deal with Willow's… moral compass... so losing Amy isn't really something I can afford.  
  
Despite her grumbling, Amy does her thing. As usual, my butt only fails to fall asleep because blood flow isn't a thing that I do anymore. Which is odd now that I think about it. I’m a blood demon. You’d think I’d be all about the normal blood type things. I wonder if an overcharged pacemaker could make my heart beat? Then again, extremely low blood pressure is my friend when being skewered repeatedly. Although the looks on the Scoobies face when they realize I have a pulse might be worth it. Ah fuck it, you know I’m bored when I start to consider their reactions to things.  
  
I'm in the middle of my third re-count of the headstones when Amy leaps up, "I found something!" she points into the crypt.  
  
Finally! Some enthusiasm. I follow her in, finding her staring at a fancy looking sarcophagus.  
  
"It's, uh… maybe three feet below the stone… coffin thing." Seriously? You get a location? It’s not just a simple yes or no response? And you were  _bored!?_  
  
"Sarcophagus."  
  
"Gesundheit?"  
  
"Stone coffin thing. It's called a sarcophagus."  
  
"… Do vampires all gain some sort of weird coffin lore skill?"  
  
"No, I just really liked that game Diablo."  
  
"You ward off Mrs Bellevu's computer with a cross." Amy hesitates, clearly debating asking how I can do that again, before continuing. "But you loved a video game named after the devil. Why am I not surprised?"  
  
"Hey! If man were meant to use Internet Explorer, he'd have been born without a brain." I feel like Archimedes would approve of my paraphrasing of his wise words on flying. Amy just doesn't understand the how much  _Evil_  is represented by that little blue e. "But, we're off topic, you said three feet down?"  
  
Amy nods, then hides behind me as stone chips begin to flee before the might of my sledge hammer. Three feet down, it turns out, is actually two feet below the floor. Somebody built this crypt on top of a treasure? Weirdo. Now I have to use a shovel… I really need to find some generic minions for this kind of make-work. Pulverizing a sarcophagus is fun, digging just lacks that same... panache. ... I probably could have just lifted it out of the way. Ah well. Time to play ‘dig dug: /r/outside edition.’  
  
Lifting the shovel up, a bit of gold glinting in the light has my groan of annoyance drowned out by Amy's happy squeal. Amy snatches up the amulet and shines her flashlight on it. Her grin falters as my shouted, "Gods Damn It," reaches her brain, she drops the amulet like it burned her and stares at it suspiciously.  
  
"What’s wrong? Is the amulet dangerous?" Well no, if we ignore the obvious issue of curses and contagion I’m sure it’s fine. But that’s not the problem.  
  
"Not directly… but it's owner is just... kind of like Jabba the Hutt." Discovering Amy liked the movies was an amazing accident. Almost as amazing as realizing that Jar-Jar doesn’t exist yet. Even weirder, so did Mrs. Bellevu… well, as much as she's capable of liking or disliking anything at the moment. Just because my currently lower powered Thrall forced me to be more subtle, doesn't mean I fully understand what’s going on in that woman's mind. I  _think_  she believes Amy and I are like a step beyond her favorite grandkids? it would explain the cookies, and her new found tendency to pinch our cheeks and smile at us. But she can’t explain herself because she still hasn't given any indication that she possesses the ability to speak. Which is strange, I think, as Amy doesn't remember her being a mute.  
  
"… so like a Mafia Boss? or just really fat?" I'm not sure Amy puffing out her cheeks is necessary, but it is amusing for reasons she probably won't appreciate. Not that she’d understand who Sasha Grey is... Will be? Fucking time travel.  
  
"Both actually, and worse, Balthazar is a cult leader. As in vampire cultists with sword fetishes. This must be the Gleaves family tomb."  
  
"So we put it back?" I give Amy points for declining to mention that I sleep with a sword strapped to my arm, and not asking how I know that name.  
  
"No… we just can't sell it for the quick cash we were hoping to. I'll have to figure out a way to contact Balthazar and arrange a trade. Dude's fucking ancient so I imagine he must have something of value to us that we can get him to exchange for it." Or if I ever need to distract The Mayor in a hurry I could hand it over and watch the fireworks.  
  
"Okay… and the rest?"  
  
"What do you mean the rest?"  
  
Amy shines her flashlight down into the hole I dug out, “Well, there was more gold down there than that amulet alone” Wait. You also get quantity? I love magic sometimes.  
  
I dig up a gold bracelet, and a... well... I don’t know what it was, but slamming the shovel into it turned it into a lump. Oops.  
  
Amy immediately picks up the bracelet and starts to put on. I smack it out of her hands, relieved when my tattoos don’t sizzle, “Fucks sakes Amy. Curses, Poisons, if the Gleaves family was crazy enough to pick a fight with Balthazar and steal his amulet, I wouldn't be shocked if they had other weird trinkets. Dangerous trinkets."  
  
“Oh I didn’t think about that. I’ll have to look up a detection spell for that.”  
  
“Meh. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have thought about it either if I wasn’t rereading those Harry Potter books.” I snap my jaw shut before I can mention the fucking Gaunt Ring. Gods Damn It.  
  
“Oh. Yeah. The diary? ... yeah, let’s not touch the treasure until we test it.” Oh good, Chamber of Secrets is already out. That could have been awkward.  
  
We start shifting the rubble back into the hole once Amy confirms that all of the gold ought to be accounted for.  
  
 **\---Later---**  
  
Apparently Saint Murphy was watching when Amy and I were joking around about our good fortune at having found our first proper treasure, and he felt the need to remind us of his existence.  
  
Amy, it seems, wanted to enchant the bracelet as a good luck charm. I admit this is a slightly better reason for wanting it than the “it’s shiny” I was expecting. Sadly, I may never know why gold is better than silver for good luck charms because, with our gear all packed up into a large duffle bag and slung over my shoulder, I wasn't quite able to stop Amy in time when I heard a voice I recognized coming from around the corner of the graveyard entrance.  
  
This left me staring, horrified, at Amy having an impromptu, 'who can look more surprised' contest with Willow as they collided with each other under the entrance archway. Okay Jack, think fast, why are you and Amy in a graveyard after dark in Sunnydale? Willow knows Amy knows about the… dangers that entails. Xander rounding the corner a half second later provides an easy answer.  
  
I turn to Amy, "You see? We're not the only ones out having fun. I don't see why you got so nervous when it got dark," I indicate Willow and Xander with a nod of my head, "they're out here too, so clearly it can't be that dangerous around here. You don't have to try and scare the new guy in town." I roll my eyes exaggeratedly and, facing them directly, I smile at the two Scoobs, "Hey guys, if you're looking for a good spot there’s a clump of trees over thatawayish.” I wave my hand in no particular direction. “They should keep you hidden from any cops looking to enforce those pesky public indecency laws." It takes everyone a moment to catch on to what I'm implying, but then Amy and Willow both turn bright red and start spluttering. I think Willow might have a slight genetic advantage in the 'who can turn reddest' contest. Xander looks torn between amused and upset on Willow's behalf. Hmmm, he also looks mildly distressed. Either he still thinks of Willow as his sister and is grossed out, or he's already begun to notice she's a girl and is uncomfortable about my implications striking close to home.  
  
Oz, hitherto absent for reasons unknown, finally arrives and I go for broke, "Oh. Wow…" I try to look slightly uncomfortable, but its hard while fighting back laughter, "…uh… kinky. I knew you Californians were laid-back but… uh yeah… have fun you guys. We'll leave you to it." I grab Amy and tug her around them, "Amy, we should probably be getting home, I did promise your dad I'd have you home like 15 minutes ago." Willow is impersonating a bright red fish. Oz looks confused, and Xander finally cracks and gives in to a snort of derision. I think Xander deserves a Scooby Snack for holding out as long as he did in the face of the absurdity that is me on a roll. I make a mental note to buy the man some Twinkies. Do they sell them by the case?  
  
I'm half dragging Amy along while she glares at me with indignation. I'm about to continue teasing her when my good mood flees as I hear Oz interrupt Willow whining at Xander for laughing, "Guys? Who was that? He didn't smell human." Fuck. I guess the nose game cuts both ways. Time to be... not here.  
  
Amy is now doing an admirable job of proving that she can glare at me indignantly even while being carried at full vampire sprint. That’s pretty damn impressive actually.  
  
 **\---Sunnydale Memorial Hospital---**  
  
"Why are we here again?" Aha! I make note that Amy will abandon her attempts at giving me the silent treatment if she wants answers.  
  
"Because, bumping into the local demon hunters in a graveyard at night once is funny," Amy's face says she strongly disagrees with my assessment of the encounter, but she doesn't interrupt, "twice would probably have them scrambling to investigate me. I'd rather they didn't poke their noses in our business. So, we're going to skip the other sites in the main graveyards for now and hit up the ones out on the outskirts of town. We can start with the ones up by those caves. Hopefully, even with Oz’s moon cursed nose telling them I’m not fully human they’ll eventually bugger off.” Unlikely, but a man can dream. Hmmm... maybe Amy should tell her parent that she’s staying with a friend and sack out at Mrs. Bellevu’s?  
  
"No, I mean, here, at the hospital." oh. That.  
  
"Thinking about Scooby Snacks gave me the munchies. I figured I'd swing through the local market on our way out to the caves." Amy still looks puzzled, so I lean in an explain in a whisper, "…I'm going to raid the blood bank. Wait here in the lobby with the bags okay?"  
  
"Oh... Okay." Casual acceptance of lawlessness? Good Minion. You can have some of the Twinkies when I buy the case.  
  
Having Amy along for this is quite helpful in a rather embarrassing way. The hardest part of the whole job is getting in the fucking building. It turns out that the automatic door sensors count as surveillance according to my tattoos which prickled right before I walked straight into the door the first time I did this. I had to wait for someone else to visit the hospital and trigger the doors. In Sunnydale. At night. It took a while for anyone to show up. After that, stealing some scrubs and following one of the surgical types into the elevator was relatively easy. Color coded scrubs for employees was a fantastic idea, it makes it so much easier for me to blend in appropriately.  
  
I throw what little psychic power I can still manage into my requested, " _Basement please,_ " as I board the elevator behind a fellow green scrubs dude. I've found that I can manage to get people to go along with reasonable sounding requests fairly easily and, best of all, quickly, by nudging them with Thrall. Coworkers asking you to push the button seems to count as reasonable. For some reason, they still get… cranky… if I ask them to do while wearing civvies.  
  
Gods I miss being able to just overpower people's minds with brute force. Not enough to regret the tattoos, especially since they've fended off three of those inexplicable magical pulses already, but still. Sandblasting soup crackers was nice while it lasted.  
  
Once Mr. Green has swiped his badge and pressed the button, I repeat the trick on the guy working for the blood bank, " _I need 10 packets of… B+ STAT,"_ and add a new cooler full of blood to my growing collection of hospital coolers. So far as I can tell, the blood type doesn't seem to make any difference whatsoever, but then again father was never very good at tasting subtle differences in food flavors, so that may just be me. In any case, I haven't tried B+ yet.  
  
I have to wonder how much longer this will work. Eventually someone will notice that the blood bank employees are all describing the same guy when explaining the missing packets right? Then again I won't show up on the security footage so who knows if they'll be believed. I change back into my black tee shirt and jeans and make my way out to the lobby. Speaking of clothing; I should get a leather trench coat, and then have it enchanted like Dresden's. I imagine bullets still hurt even if they can't kill me. Then again, I'm sure Grandfather and William would both accuse me of copying their style, and I'd never be able to explain that I'm actually stealing the style of a character from a book that hasn't been written yet. Ah well. Maybe a steel breastplate? It wouldn’t actually be that heavy. Kind of conspicuous though.  
  
"Hey Amy, time to go."  
  
Amy looks at me funny, "Jack, why are you wearing a scrub cap?" oh. oops. I remove the offending article of headgear. This is what happens when I try to dress myself while daydreaming about enchanted trench coats.  
  
"Not. A. Word." I decide Amy's laughter is a marked improvement over either the twitchy paranoia the night started with or the indignant silence our close call with Team Scooby produced.


	14. Amateur Curse-breakers

**\---Sunnydale Cemeteries---**  
  
“Ooh. I have a good feeling about this one.” It’s a bit bigger than the others, but similar in style. It matches what I recall of William and Harmony’s successful discovery quite well. Why didn’t I start with the one’s by the caves again?  
  
Sadly, Amy doesn’t share my enthusiasm, “Jack! No! No feelings! The last time you had a good feeling about a place I almost got eaten by a Pogo Demon.”  
  
“Oh come on, I know what  _Polgara_ Demon smells like now, and that fight was awesome!” I try to tamp down on the enthusiasm a bit since Amy is still occasionally freaking out when a stick snaps in the distance. But... this place just looks so... perfect.  
  
I make sure my sentry post is clearly in her line of sight and settle down for an hour of skull numbing boredom while I wait for her to either confirm, or destroy, my optimistic excitement.  
  
Or not. That is definitely the sound of something that thinks it’s being sneaky.  
  
... And that’s another.  
  
Oh. Right. I remember why we didn’t start at the caves now. I figured before Adam, they’d be infested. Ah the  _joys_  of being proven right.  
  
... uh... that’s new. I feel... a strange sense of recognition and my tattoo tingles faintly. Why do I have a general fix on that one particular vampire’s location in my head? And what the ever-loving fuck is she doing to set off my tattoos?  
  
Abandoning any pretext of being unaware of what is starting to sound like a small pack of moronic fledges, I trigger the release on my sword and grab my tazer from the bag. Thanking the gods I found the charger before I sold the farm truck, I set off to intercept Team Derp-Squad the Un-Silent and their leader Miss. Tingles.  
  
... Why do I know she’s female?  
  
Sadly, they aren’t so stupid that they don’t notice something is wrong when I lop the head off the first one I come across. I tazer the one that’s making my senses flare in the face. She goes down and starts convulsing, which is great, but my tattoos don’t stop tingling, which is not. The other two rush at me like bulls chasing a red flag. Idiots.  
  
Gods Damn It! Why am I the fucking lifeguard for the vampiric gene pool?  
  
**\---Almost an Hour Later---**  
  
“And... 19! AH! AH! AH!” I drive the most recent participant in this idiotic little siege into a tree branch and watch him fall to dust. These fuckers have zero self preservation instincts. I try to shake my left arm again. Nope, still unresponsive. Shoulder wounds are annoying. Pins and needles are setting in though, which I think is a good sign. Not a sign that makes sense, no blood flow, but whatever. I’ll take it.  
  
Apparently either 19 is the magic number, or the one remaining vampire noticed he was alone and didn’t like his odds. He takes off at a run. Normally, I’d love to chase him down, but that would leave Amy alone in these gods forsaken woods with whatever shows up next. Screw it. I rip the pistol out of its holster, and shoot him in the back, three times. I hadn’t actually expected to hit him three times, or even once really. I only fired the second and third shots because I assumed the first would miss. Father had atrocious aim in paintball. Then again, this thing has barely any recoil that I could feel, and the moron was running directly away from me rather than dodging around. Hmmm, I should probably add visiting a firing range for an assessment to that ever mounting list of crap I need to do. I stalk over and he’s dusted before he gets back up onto his feet. “20! AH! AH! AH!” My arm twitches a bit when I attempt to clap happily. Awesome. I love vampire healing. Hmmm... I’m going to need to raid the cooler again.  
  
Taking full advantage of the lull, I roll Miss Tingles over. Oh hey, I know her. She’s one of the anointed one’s minions, or she was, a year ago... huh... maybe that weird sense is something you get from being vaguely related to a vampire? That would make this my... something or other-th cousin something removed. She’s not bad to look at. I drag her unconscious body back to Amy’s ring of candles. I can always stake her later if she won’t explain the bizarre reaction I have to her. See, this is why older Brothers shouldn’t kidnap Mothers before the younger Brother manages to get out of the ground. I feel like explaining this kind of stuff ought to have been Mother’s job.  
  
I mean, for fucks sake, she managed to program in demands that I stop whatever the fuck she means by burning up in the sunshine, but forgot to include the vampire for dummies manual. Fucking Typical.  
  
Amy finishes her spell and rushes over to me with the most brilliant smile I’ve ever seen from her, right up until she trips over my maybe cousin’s body in the dark and drops the candle she was using for light. Getting the girl night vision goggles or some manner of magical equivalent goes on the list, while my maybe cousin goes up in flames. Damn it... eh, I almost managed to care.  
  
“Ow! Ah! Fire!” I pull Amy away from the flames. “What the hell was she doing there? Oh, whatever, I don’t I want to know. We found it!” It’s hard to be upset about anything when Amy has such fantastic news.  
  
I grin back at her, but have to ask. “Are you sure?”  
  
“Well, I have no idea if it’s the treasure you were told about, but there is a LOT of gold and silver about fifteen feet down.” Amy has started doing a little happy dance while chanting, “Rich. Rich. Rich.”  
  
Wait... Fifteen feet down? That’s a lot of rock. Oh, there must be a lower level. Well okay then! Time for some more Breaking and Entering.  
  
**\---Inside the Crypt---**  
  
There’s a lower level. I don’t have to dig through ten feet of stone or dirt. However... “I.”  _WHAM!_  “Hate.” _WHAM! “_ Reinforced.”  _WHAM! “_ Fucking.” _WHAM! “_ Doors.”  _WHAM!_  After hours of pounding away at what looks like a low tech vault door I’ve managed to dent it more than a fair bit. It’s finally starting to buckle. William made this look fucking easy. The extra century he’s got on me must make him distressingly stronger than I am. I’m going to need to fix that if I plan to keep my prize. Thank gods I’m not trying to stay hidden from a Slayer while I do this. Digging in from below suddenly seems far more daunting.  
  
The giant ball of burning suck being out might have something to do with my level of irritation. It wasn’t that long after midnight when Amy and I broke into the upper level. Now I’ll be stuck here all day if this isn’t the right trove of treasure, or... well, I’m probably stuck here anyway unless I want Amy to make the miniscule mental leap required to notice I found something noteworthy down here when I don’t burn up in the fucking sunshine. I’ve only just barely gotten her used to the idea that crosses don’t faze me, I don’t think she’d accept my victory over daylight nearly as easily.  
  
_WHAM!_ I resume hammering away at the door. “Aha!”  
  
The sound of the door finally yielding seems to summon Amy back from her lookout post by the outer door almost as if by magic. “We’re in!?” Wow, even excited she sounds exhausted. I guess it’s a good thing I was making enough noise to wake the dead. Quite literally in three cases, which had led to renewals of the besieging forces. Amy taking a nap on watch may have ended poorly.  
  
“We’re in. Now, what’s the rule?”  
  
“Don’t touch anything until after it’s been checked for curses.”  
  
“Good girl!” She doesn’t seem to appreciate being patted on the head. Maybe I messed up her hair?  
  
I almost immediately violate my own rule, pocketing the Gem of Amarra while Amy is distracted by the tiara. I feel safe enough pointing it out to her since it didn’t melt Harmony’s brains like that stupid Diadem would have. Then again, would anyone have been able to tell?  
  
Ring secured I look around the room at the other bits and pieces. It’s much more impressive looking in person than on TV, though that may have been a result of William not caring about anything beyond the Gem. Sorting through all this... could take a while.  
  
**\---Still Inside the Crypt---**  
  
A while, it turns out is a massive underestimate.  
  
With the excitement induced adrenaline surge wearing off, Amy’s attempts to ‘test all the things’ for magic comes to an abrupt halt when she passes out on her feet. I barely manage to catch her before she hits her head on a table as she goes down.  
  
Hmmmm... This is both horribly concerning, and incredibly convenient. I lay her down on a corner of the floor to sleep off her... hopefully overwork induced exhaustion? I pick up and fiddle with all of the things she tested to make sure my tattoos don’t flare. I do not need Amy reprising the role of Aurora right now. My tattoos give me no indication of magic trying to affect me.  
  
Just to double check, I walk back over and flop down next to my witch. “Amy? Wake up!” Amy fidgets slightly, murmurs something about hammering her mother, and claims my leg as a pillow. I... am not really sure what to make of that, but I would guess it at least means she’s not in a magical coma. I suppose sitting here against the wall is as good a place to try out my new ring as any. I fish it out of my pocket, making sure not to disturb the sleeping witch and put it on my finger.  
  
Tapping the cross to my left produces no pain. Neither does grabbing it. Score. Now I just need to find a less obvious way to... wear... it...  
  
...  
  
I look at the ring that I know is magical that is sitting on my finger. The magical ring that I picked up. The magical ring that I put on. The magical ring that set off no warning alarms whatsoever from my tattoos. Not even a tingle. The magical ring that is very clearly affecting me without upsetting my tattoos.  
  
I look over at the pile of items I tested for curses by picking them all up and playing with them to see if my tattoos gave off any warnings.  
  
Well... I grew overconfident in my tattoo’s abilities remarkably fast. “FUCKING FUCK!” I wonder if-  
  
Amy punches my leg and murmurs sleepily, “No Jack... no fucking my mom...”  
  
...What? What the shit? Where did that come from? I think there might be something wrong with my favorite minion.  
  
...  
  
I really need to start carrying around a tape recorder so I can prove these moments actually happened later, she is never going to believe me.


End file.
